Synthesis
by ArcturusWolf
Summary: Evolution. It is the one thing that drives all things forward. While the Muggle world continues to evolve, the magical world stagnates in its firm belief that magical superiority trumps all else. When a magical child is created with the aid of science, what would it mean for the magical world? Would one prove supreme, or would a third path grow from their differences?
1. I: Les Enfants Terribles

For those at the forefront of discovery, it was known that often one had to disregard his or her morals for the greater good. Wealth. Friendship. Family. These were meaningless foibles, only serving as distractions. Excess wealth beyond the necessities of life did not bring about results; friends only served to bring chaos in an otherwise immaculately ordered life. And family? The bickering of relatives not concerning oneself was not even worth listening to, let alone intervening in.

For Amanda Flynn, these thoughts had served her well for years. Her brothers and sisters were dull, preferring to engage in fickle activities such as sports and music to occupy their days and evenings. She preferred to read and ponder about how things worked. She remembered well the day that her eldest brother purchased a car, a simple four-door sedan; while the others were marvelling at the comfortable seats and the ample baggage space, she spent more of her time looking at what was under the hood and wondering how it worked. They poked fun at her for weeks after that, thinking that she was strange for being fascinated by gears and metal.

Strange. It was an appropriate enough word to describe her, she supposed. But the opinions of others did not matter to her. What did matter was power; and what better power was there than knowledge?

Combustion engines were interesting enough to look at, to dismantle and examine. So were most of the other moving parts that worked. But as she pondered more about the workings of machines, she found herself staring at her hand after a while. Closing and opening it, turning it around, and experimentally prodding at the skin, marvelling at how flexible yet tough it was. It was at that point that inspiration struck her, that would set the course for her future.

Machines were powerful. Machines were complex. Machines of metal and plastic were everywhere, and yet even they could not satisfy her curiosity.

She needed more. She needed to look at the greatest and most complex machinery known to mankind. The machinery of the living body, comprised of trillions of minute cells working in harmony. How it functioned, she did not know; but she knew that at one point, she needed to find out. If simple machines could be so useful, who knew how powerful such a complex machine could be, brought to perfection?

And fifteen years later, her ambition and drive bore fruit. Amanda Flynn, a researcher in molecular biology, found her calling. Working on a skunkworks project with the government to discover the secrets of the human genome, she found herself in her element. The stern red-haired woman found herself striding down sterile white laboratories, supervising experiments that were being conducted. The experiments were proceeding well enough, she supposed; observations came as fast as they could be processed, and groundbreaking results published to the archives at regular intervals.

But it was not fast enough for her. What was the point of observing something already present, if they were not going to improve it? The genome was being mapped at an incredible rate with the amount of funding being channelled into it, but that was all they had done for at least a few years. Mapping. Mapping. And more mapping. Categorically noting down what everything did, what alterations would accomplish, and what problems may arise from the presence or absence of a particular genetic pattern. And it irked her greatly that such knowledge was being treated as purely knowledge, and not wielded for power.

The power to create was in her hands. And she would be damned if she allowed the knowledge to simply gather dust in some old library. No, she needed to do something with it.

To forge the greatest machine of all. To enhance a human body, from an existing template.

It proved immensely difficult to find a suitable donor. Every other scientist that she had spoken to had balked, citing foolish reasons like morals or religion. Finally, in frustration, she decided that if nobody was willing to assist her on this line of research, she would do so herself. After all, she only needed a few cells, and not a limb or two. Cells that she would no longer need, given ten years or so, given the human biological clock.

Under the guise of a larger experiment, Amanda diverted significant amounts from their allotted research funds to the creation of a set of prototype artificial wombs, in which she placed heavily-modified embryos. Embryos created from herself and a male donor, one of her junior researchers with a curiously intense interest in the project – and likely the only man that had any interest in it. She projected that the result would be modified humans; faster, stronger and tougher than most other humans, equipped with denser skeletal structure and denser muscle structure, and having already-identified disease-causing genetic material scrubbed.

On examining the embryos' genes, however, she found strange sequences that have not been identified before. Dismissing this as variation brought about from her donor's own genetics, she paid it no mind.

Her overseers had noted down the specifics of what she was trying to achieve, and the military had expressed strong interest in seeing the project come to fruition. Funding flowed freely after that. The very best of staff assigned to her team, the very best of equipment delivered to her laboratory on a whim. She could have asked for no better conditions to work under.

Strangely, though most of her staff had changed when the military had taken over administration of her project, the junior researcher that had donated his genetic material remained. Phineas Black, his name was, if she recalled correctly.

Though Amanda tried to remember exactly when did she sign him onto her team, she found that she could not. There was something amiss about him, as though she were the only one that could see him. Her secretary had insisted that there was nobody called Phineas in her team, and so did the others that worked under her. One of them, a medical doctor with psychiatry training, offered to counsel her if she felt that stress was getting to her.

An offer that she vehemently denied. Admitting madness was a very good way to be removed from a project. And in her line of work, being 'removed' from a project meant that one would never be seen again. By anyone. Ever.

Thus her research continued on, watching her six 'children' develop in their glass tanks filled with biogel. It rattled her, seeing that man – Phineas – standing by the tank, watching the children as they grew. He smirked and waved irritatingly in her direction every time she passed by, offered insights when she had a problem that she couldn't crack, and comforted her with kind words after a ten or twelve-hour shift on the job.

Yet she could not acknowledge his presence. He wasn't real. He couldn't be real. Everyone else walked by him, not seeing him, hearing him. Others would think her insane if she started talking to him. He had to be simply a figment of her imagination, a spawn of her overworked mind. No person in her laboratory could simply stand with her at all times, and not have a single other person comment on his presence.

Another part of her, however, asked if that assumption was actually true. She did require his genetic material to make her children. And she was certain that he had been in her car before to be dropped off at an address somewhere in East Anglia. An address that actually existed that she had never heard of before. That alone was evidence enough that the man was real, and yet...every other piece of evidence suggested otherwise.

Nine months quickly swept by. The children – her children – had grown quite large by then. One of them was about the size of her arm. The thought of giving birth to something so large - let alone six of them - caused Amanda to reflexively clamp a hand onto her flat stomach. The thought of carrying just one of them within her, let alone passing one out of her body, made her rather queasy. Sometimes she wondered what part of Mother Nature could be so merciless as to force a female creature to carry a child within her body, and then force her to have to expel it through an organ far too small to do so easily.

 _The very same one that enforces growth and improvement through an endless cycle of life, death and rebirth_ , she thought wryly to herself.

"Dr. Flynn," one of the assistants spoke from behind a computer screen. "The foetuses are sufficiently mature, and we're ready to purge the biogel on your command,"

"Very well, Dr. Jennings. Let's confirm that we have everything, shall we?" Amanda replied, looking down at her clipboard. "Oxygen respirators?"

"Check,"

"Saline solution and IV drip?"

"Check,"

"Medical staff?"

"Check,"

"Towels and postnatal bassinets?"

She was certain Dr. Jennings snorted a little. "Check,"

"Alright. Phase One of _Les Enfants Terribles_ -" she grimaced at the terrible name that General Adams had given her project. Did the brutish man even read those old classics? She would never know. "-is ready to conclude. Vitals on the children?"

"All vitals are green, madame," answered the thickly-accented medic beside the iron lung machine. "Oxygen levels are nominal,"

"Excellent. Dr. Jennings, you may perform the honours,"

In the corner of her eye, Amanda saw Phineas watching from the side of the room. He was standing right beside Dr. Jennings with his arms crossed, so close that if the raven-haired scientist took another step back, she would trip over his feet. She forced herself to keep a straight face when the man (or was it an illusion?) flashed her a toothy smile and gave her a thumbs-up. It would not do to look like a madwoman during such an important event.

With a gentle gurgling noise, the greenish biogel began to drain out of the six glass tanks containing the little infants. There was a strange feeling in her chest as she watched the babies finally settle in the bottom of the tanks, crying loudly as they began to take their first breaths in the world. A feeling of warmth. A profound sense of success and of contentment. Different from the other times where she had succeeded in completing a project.

"Dr. Jennings. Lower the glass," she ordered, observing that the last of the fluid had drained out of every tank. The glass tanks slid into the ground with a gentle snap-hiss, and Amanda stooped down, scooping up the nearest infant into her arms.

Or rather, _tried_ to. She didn't expect the little child to be so heavy. "Towel," she said, and a waiting assistant pushed a towel into her waiting hands. "And prepare the scales. We need to record their weights, even if they all look very much healthy,"

She strained and heaved as she lifted two babies up to a waiting trolley. Dr. Jennings likewise had some trouble, to the point where she had to squat down and lift them up one at a time. Phineas had picked one of them up and carefully deposited one on a waiting scale. "Good God. Twenty and a half pounds for this one. She's a right heavy lass," whistled one of the other scientists.

Amanda's eye twitched. They responded to that particular baby being placed on the scales – and they did not make a single comment about the fact that Phineas was the one that placed her there. Rather, it was as though they only noticed the baby once she was _on_ the scales, and not a moment before.

And then the man dared to grin cheekily at her, flashing a thumbs-up. She gritted her teeth and bit back an angry rant, remembering that any display of mental instability was grounds for termination of contract. But just to make sure that she was not going mad, she decided to throw some bait out there for someone else to pick up.

"Who placed the baby onto the scales?" demanded Amanda, much to the confusion of everyone present.

"Was it not you, madame?" the medic near the iron lung answered.

"No, it was not me. I was busy lifting up one of these babies to a trolley, and I am quite far from the scales, as you can see," she spoke, pointing at the set of scales all the way across the room. "So, who was it?"

Silence greeted her ears. Not a single one of the other scientists, assistants or medics admitted that they picked up that baby. "Unless the baby could somehow move herself, and purposely lie down on the scales, I do think that someone must have moved her," Amanda said. The silence had confirmed to the red-haired scientist that someone had moved her. Someone other than the staff present in the laboratory that can interact and be seen by others.

Phineas.

 _One day, I will get to the bottom of this_ , she thought to herself. But not at that very moment. They needed to complete this phase of the project before General Adams arrived to inspect their progress, and that man was certainly neither patient nor tolerant of failure of any sort.

"Enough. Get those babies wrapped up in towels, weighed and dried. We have a rather important guest coming for an inspection," Amanda snapped. She checked her wristwatch and blanched. "Ten minutes. Go!"

It was as though a fire had been lit under everyone's collective backsides, and within minutes the babies had been weighed and wrapped up in linens. Two were fast asleep when they were placed into their respective bassinets, though the others still cried loudly. Amanda scooped one up – the one that Phineas had lifted first – and cradled her, gently rocking her to calm her down. A rather difficult task for the slight woman, who struggled to hold the rather heavy baby in her arms.

"Shh," she whispered into the baby's ear, "Go to sleep, little one. You're in safe hands,"

The baby only wailed louder. Grimacing, she turned to the medic in the room. "Dr. Laurent, do you have any suggestions?"

"Yes. I believe zat she is 'ungry," the medic, Dr. Laurent said, smiling widely, "I shall fetch some milk and a few bottles,"

"Thank you, Dr. Laurent. Please hurry, I do believe that General Adams is due to arrive at any moment; and I think everyone knows what happens when the man is angered,"

"What is this I hear about when _I_ am angered?"

Amanda very nearly jumped in terror. "Gen-General Adams, sir!" she squeaked, cursing the man's sharp hearing. Heavy boots stomped against sterile metal floor as the man marched in. A man might be a generous term for the intimidating square-jawed wall of muscle that towered over everyone else in the room. No, he was a brute, through and through.

"Speak up, woman!" he roared, causing her to flinch. "You have a voice, use it!"

"General Adams, sir!" she spoke up, much more loudly than before.

"That's better, civilian! At ease," he said, turning up a crooked nose in disdain. His hawk-like eyes swept across the room, assessing everything within. "I was told that I would be seeing some new-fangled supersoldiers today, not some milk-drinking swots. Well, woman? Where are they?"

"The results of the _Les Enfants Terribles_ Project are right here, General. You are looking at them," Amanda said, tilting her head in the direction of the five filled cribs on a trolley.

"Babies?" he spoke slowly. His eyes narrowed in barely concealed fury. "Babies!? These are not supersoldiers!"

"With all due respect, sir, I cannot grow a foetus to an adult within nine months," Amanda said quickly, in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone. Sometimes she wondered why this particular blockhead was the one to inspect her work. "I assure you that they will, in time, grow to be strong,"

"How strong is strong?" he snorted, pointing at the nearest baby with a gloved finger nearly the size of her wrist. Which, apparently, was the wrong thing to do. The baby latched tightly onto his hand with both of her hands and squeezed. Hard – or at least, as hard as a baby could.

"What's this little limpet doing? Get off me," sneered General Adams, shaking his arm up and down. The baby still clung on stubbornly, wailing loudly at the sudden jerky movements. Eventually, the baby did fall back down into the crib, along with Adams' glove.

"Fine, kid. Have my glove, I'll just get another one," he grunted. Fearing the worst, Amanda immediately bowed her head and apologised for the baby's behaviour. "What are you apologising for, woman? I saw what I needed to see for myself,"

"You—you did?"

"Are you daft? I told you that I saw what I needed to see for myself. Means exactly that. That kid's got a damn strong grip-" he held up his hand, showing two tiny hand-shaped bruises forming on its back, "-and a fine pair of lungs, too," he continued, stuffing a finger into his ear. "Little scrapper could deafen someone when it's older, just by shouting. Glad to see that something's come out of the time and money spent on this project,"

"Thank you, sir,"

"Don't thank me just yet. Your job isn't done yet," he drawled, giving her a shark-like grin, "I was promised super-soldiers from this project, not babies. Time for you to get back to the kitchen, woman,"

* * *

Later that evening, Amanda found herself driving home in pouring rain. Her new Vauxhall now had three cribs secured upon the back seats, filled with soundly sleeping babies. She was fuming; she had been 'dismissed' from the project – and any other projects – for the coming twenty years. The promised generous annual stipend from the government's coffers, along with a new house, dulled the blow to her pride somewhat, but it still didn't change what had happened.

Dismissed. Not relegated to less demanding projects. Dismissed. Thrown aside after her crowning achievement of advancing humanity by leaps and bounds. Set aside to be a mere _housewife_ , of all things, to look after the children until they were old enough to be enlisted. True, she did not have to look after _all_ the babies, only three of them. Her colleague, Ellen Jennings, had been chosen to raise the other three alongside her own children, as an experimental control set to be kept away from their siblings and raised as normal children would be. The rest of the staff had been either dismissed or moved on to other projects, while the equipment that they had used were to be mothballed and put into secure storage until the conclusion of the current phase of the project.

Which was to say, _motherhood_. Something that she wouldn't have minded too much, if it didn't also cost her the ability to experiment to her heart's content.

"The nerve of that man!" screamed Amanda at the top of her lungs. "How dare he—I am _not_ a maid or housewife! He can't do this to me!"

"Oh, but 'e just did, Mandy," chuckled her companion mirthlessly, "As 'e did to all of us. Ze ozzers were dismissed from ze project entirely, but at least we 'ave something to show for eet,"

Amanda in response muttered a few choice curses under her breath. "Lucille Isabelle Laurent, if I were not driving this car, I could strangle you where you sit," she growled, "This is my career that you are joking about. My career! I did _not_ study and research for fifteen years, just to be tossed aside and become some kind of...glorified housewife!"

"Per'aps you should consider your words better," Lucille purred in a dangerously sweet voice. "After all, it seems zat you consider that _your_ career iz worth more zan mine,"

Amanda blanched as she realised what she had just said. "I—I...oh, Lucille, I'm so very sorry—AH!"

Lucille yelped as Amanda slammed her foot on the brakes and swerved to one side. The car very nearly veered off the road; its wheels mounted the kerb and up the grass strip, tearing up quite a bit of lawn before she could bring it back under control. "Mon dieu! Amanda!" the brunette medic said sharply, "Iz something ze matter?"

"I-I nearly hit a man," Amanda replied, breathing shallowly. Little Whinging was a quiet neighbourhood. Most kept to themselves, rarely ever going outside their homes except for maybe a walk on Sunday mornings. She looked in the rear view mirror; there was a group of hooded and robed men and women cavorting around in the rain, right in the middle of the road. Not a care in the world as they splashed about in puddles, skipping and twirling in some frenzied display of joy. She even swore that there were honest-to-God owls perched on some of their arms.

"What man?"

The red-haired scientist froze. She pulled the car over and stopped, staring in the rear view mirror again. They were _right there_! How could she not see them? "Look in the wing mirror. They're there, just before the intersection,"

Lucille glanced at the wing mirror, and then gazed at her with concern in her eyes. "Ma cherie," she said soothingly, lifting a hand and stroking her gently on her cheek, "Zere is nobody zere,"

"There—there's nobody there?" Amanda said shakily, checking the rear view mirror again. She could clearly see them; there was a woman spinning about with an infant in her arms, with a man dancing gaily to her side as others clapped and cheered. She swore she could even _hear_ them! Was this another case of something like that dreaded Phineas again? The man that she knew existed, but none of the others could see or hear? Was she actually going mad?

"Non. Ze streets – zey are empty. I can only see zis 'orrible rain zat is everywhere. Do you feel quite alright? Per'aps you are too tired after work today. After all, giving birth to six beautiful daughters iz exhausting, non?" Lucille asked, "You look razzer pale, ma cherie. Would you like to switch? I could drive the rest of ze way,"

"N-No, it's quite alright, Lucille. We're almost there,"

Amanda pulled away from the kerb, focusing on everything but the weirdness that had somehow crept into her life. Yes, perhaps she was only overworked, and was imagining things. At least Privet Drive was only another turn away from Magnolia Crescent, and then she could have a relaxing hot bath and a strong cup of tea. Yes, that might just help her calm her apparently frayed nerves. Thankfully, nothing stranger occurred during the rest of their short drive. The red-haired geneticist held her breath as her car finally came to a rest in the garage of Number Three, Privet Drive; only when she heard the garage door slam closed did she sigh in relief.

"Ah, 'ome sweet 'ome. Did you say the trolley was in ze back of ze car, ma cherie?"

"Yes. It should be there, dear,"

"Tres bien. I shall move our children to zeir rooms," Lucille chirped happily, an impish smile on her face. She leaned in and gave Amanda a chaste kiss on the lips. "I can 'ardly believe it, Mandy. After all zese years...I...we...you performed ze impossible. Children to call our own,"

"While the conditions aren't...optimal," Amanda mumbled, grimacing as she recalled what the military referred to their children as – supersoldiers, tools, nothing more and nothing less, "Yes, I suppose that is quite apt. We do have children of our own now,"

"Oh, do be quiet. You truly know 'ow to ruin a woman's good mood," chided Lucille, though there was no bite in it. "And 'ere I was, thinking of giving you a proper...'ow do you say it? Ah, yes. A most thorough and exciting examination...in ze bedroom. Doctor's orders to treat your fatigue and your anxiety with some tender loving care, yes?"

The sight of Lucille gnawing coyly on her lips, coupled with her suggestive comment caused Amanda to flush a bright scarlet. On another day, she would have pounced upon her partner there and then. However, her mind was still too disturbed by the strange events that had happened.

First was the way that Phineas could interact with the baby, and yet be completely undetected by everyone in the room aside from herself. The second was the way that people noticed said baby after she had been placed on the scales, but not a moment before. And after that, the most obvious. Lucille was clearly in her car with her; yet when she swerved around the group of revelling madmen in Magnolia Crescent, Lucille had claimed that there was nobody there.

She knew otherwise, of course. The baby couldn't have moved on its own if it weren't for Phineas moving her. In fact, none of the babies would have existed at all to begin with if Phineas wasn't real, yet Lucille was fussing over one of the babies that had started crying. It was completely inexplicable; a clear contradiction of facts! How could someone exist, and be utterly undetectable? There was something else at play here, she was sure of it. Something that was affecting the perceptions of those around her; something undetectable, invisible and omnipresent. Something that, for some odd reason, did not affect her.

Whatever the case, Amanda swore that she would get to the bottom of it. Eventually. After all, what could be measured must be measured, and what could not must be made so.

* * *

A/N:

This is a rewrite of another story that I had written. Going over the previous story, it has come to my attention that there are numerous major plot holes that occurred fairly early on, and a major departure from the original plot line that greatly diminished the potential of the story. After debating whether or not I should attempt to fix the existing story, or to rewrite it with the original concept, I went with the latter. There is far more conflict to be pursued (and therefore a proportionally greater amount of drama to be exploited) with a greater culture shock and/or greater amounts of blood status conflict. And as we all know, conflict makes for interest.

Aside from that, I felt that I was a little too ambitious with the scale of the project. Covering all seven books was perhaps a little much to cover in detail. The primary focus of the story will be on the Goblet of Fire and onwards.

Another note to readers: This story may potentially contain Ronbashing and Dumbbashing. If you are allergic to either of these plot flavours, please be advised that I do not have anti-inflammatory potions and/or lotions available.

Stay tuned, folks! Updates may not be that frequent, but I assure you that they will be much better polished than if I were to stick to a scheduled update pattern.

-ArcturusWolf


	2. The Invitation

It had been nearly eleven years since Amanda had taken the three children into her house at Number Three, Privet Drive. And aside from the occasional visit from the General to check on her children's progress, they had more or less settled into a civilian lifestyle. The day started off like any other Saturday. She woke up at the crack of dawn to let her children out for their daily morning jog, put the previous day's dirty laundry into the washing machine, toasted several slices of bread and fried some bacon and eggs, and then prepared some strong coffee to properly wake herself up.

So routine. So ordered. And so utterly mundane.

That was precisely the image that her superiors wanted her to project to the rest of the world around her. That she was a simple housewife looking after three little girls while her partner worked and brought back the bread for them to live off, figuratively speaking. That the little girls were attending a perfectly ordinary public school somewhere. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing suspicious.

Well, aside from the fact that neither Amanda nor Lucille had aged as quickly as they should. Three years after their children's arrival, Amanda had received a strange unsigned package containing a tiny vial of red liquid. Without the full facilities of the laboratory she had worked at, she had been forced to simply test it on an old, mangy rat that she had caught in the basement. A single drop had somehow reversed the rat's aging significantly. Its patchy fur grew back before her eyes, its eyes grew brighter, and with a happy squeak, it managed to slip away from her by slipping out of her hands with surprising vigour.

Several subsequent tests on other creatures – cats, dogs, rats and mice – had all yielded the same results. And ever since then, she had decided to dose herself and Lucille with half a drop every month, added to their breakfast. So far, Lucille had been none the wiser, thinking herself as simply having aged gracefully. And Amanda had no mind to show her photographs from ten years ago, lest she catch on to her deception. She still looked exactly as she did back then, her lustrous sheets of chocolate hair framing a freckled pale heart-shaped face. Not a single grey hair in sight.

Which was more than she could say for herself, Amanda grimaced. A single strand of white hair dangled irritatingly in front of her eyes, tempting her to yank it out. Even that mystery liquid couldn't fix everything, she supposed.

Still, she wondered what it was exactly – and who would have sent such a thing. She knew of so many people that would _kill_ for something like that. A chemical that not only slowed, but _reversed_ aging? It was the stuff of dreams, and valuable beyond belief. Even she couldn't comprehend how it worked, seeing as everything she knew about human physiology said that was an impossibility.

A series of soft taps came from the door and broke her train of thought. "Mum, we're back!" called out one of her daughters. She could hear the other two giggling about something or another.

"Alright. Wait a minute, I'll get the door,"

The moment that she had unlocked it, the door burst inwards. Her daughters had rushed in, barely remembering to take off their dirty shoes before stepping on the polished tile floor of their kitchen. Sighing as she picked up the shoes and placed them back on the shoe rack, she grumbled, "Zoe, Aveline, Orianna. What did I tell you about taking your time when you come back from your morning jogs? Take your shoes off slowly, and put them back on the rack!"

Not that any of them listened, of course, as they had dashed off to the bathroom on the second floor. Sighing, Amanda bent over and picked up the scattered shoes, placing them back on the rack near the door. As nice as her kids were when they were calm, they were next to impossible to control after a good run. Something about having too much excitement pumping through their blood, she supposed.

After putting eggs and bacon on four pans to cook on the stove, Amanda then turned her attention to the newspaper on the kitchen table. She sipped her rapidly cooling coffee and took a bite of her sandwich before picking up the newspaper – only to notice that there was something else slipped inside it.

"What's this?" Amanda muttered, unfurling the folded newspaper that Zoe had dropped onto the kitchen counter. She raised an eyebrow when three rather heavy letters fell out of the pages, encased in some honest-to-God parchment envelopes and sealed with red wax bearing an unfamiliar insignia; a four-piece crest, bearing a lion, a snake, a badger and a raven, surrounding an ornate 'H'. Her confusion only grew when she read who it had been addressed to.

 _Miss Z. Flynn_

 _The Second Bedroom_

 _3 Privet Drive_

 _Little Whinging_

 _Surrey_

The other two letters bore the exact same address, and even got the correct room names. She wondered who exactly could have gotten _all_ the details right, down to the room that the girls had. That level of surveillance was unnerving, and somewhat worrisome. Had word of her research and the existence of the modified girls somehow spread? If that were the case...her stomach jumped unpleasantly. The repercussions were not something that she would dare to think about.

Dreading its contents, she opened the envelope. Out fell a heavy letter made of parchment, seemingly handwritten in an elegant feminine script.

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorc.; Chf. Warlock; Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Ms. Flynn,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

Amanda blinked. "Not again," she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. Was one day without strangeness too much to ask for?

"Iz something ze matter, ma cherie?" mumbled Lucille as she slowly wandered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

"Here, take a look. What do you think?"

"It iz too early in ze morning to be thinking too 'ard,"

"Lucille, please. I need you to read this," Lucille raised an eyebrow but took the letters from Amanda. As she read each one, her expression shifted from curiosity to outright frustration. "Ma cherie, iz zis some kind of elaborate prank?" she demanded, dropping the letters on the kitchen counter. "A school of magic? An International Confederation of Wizards? Zis is utterly ridiculous. Magic? What nonsense!"

But everything that had happened thus far. It made too much sense to Amanda. A person that she knew was real, but nobody else believed existed. People dancing on the road, which Lucille insisted that she couldn't see. The strange liquid that seemed to defy all known theories on biological aging and degradation by reversing aging. It couldn't be so simple as to declare it was magic, could it?

"Lucille," Amanda said slowly, "What if it isn't nonsense?"

There was a certain look that she could recognise in Lucille's green eyes. A look of mingled pity, skepticism – and utter exhaustion. "Amanda, ma cherie – is zis another one of your bouts of...wild imaginations?"

"I'm not imagining things!" Amanda exclaimed, holding up her hands. "Nor have I been imagining things all these years. You know better than anyone else, Lucille, that I don't make jokes about such things. I've been investigating these odd events for years!"

Lucille scowled. "Yet you 'ave not found a single piece of evidence to suggest that zis _magic_ actually exists! Despite spending every minute of your free time trying to find that evidence! 'Ow many times 'ave you claimed zat an invisible man is somehow following your every move? 'Ow many times 'ave you actually caught zat man?"

"Lucille, please listen to me-"

"No, I will not stand silent zis time! You will listen to me," Lucille shouted over her. There was a fire blazing in her eyes that Amanda had never seen before. "Ma cherie, I 'ave been with you for nearly twenty years. You were ze most level 'eaded of _mademoiselles_ that I have ever had the fortune to meet in university,"

A ringing silence fell over the arguing couple. Lucille took a deep breath and continued. "Then somezing changed almost twelve years ago. Somezing has you worried. You toss and you turn in your sleep, and you've pushed me away for years. Years! You refuse to see a licensed medical practitioner about your...delusions...and now you come up with...with zis! Zis letter! If zis is simply another attempt to convince me that you are not seeing zings..."

She trailed off into an angry rant. Years. Had it been that long since she had seen Phineas in every shadow? Unable to rest properly thanks to an obsession with discovering the truth behind an invisible world beyond their own? An unpleasant dryness crept onto her throat as she heard the softest of sniffles coming from Lucille. Had she been so selfish as to neglect her for so long?

Alas, before she could comfort her long-time partner and apologise for her errors, there came another series of knocks upon the front door, interrupting Lucille's furious rambling. She glared once at Amanda, and then at the door.

"I shall get it," Lucille said curtly, marching off to throw open the door.

* * *

When Minerva McGonagall had been notified that there were four students in Privet Drive to be taken to Diagon Alley for their orientation to the Wizarding World that day, she had been taken quite aback. Magical children were rare enough, and to have twins like the Weasleys was considered a major blessing. To have triplets? It was nearly unheard of, and yet evidently there was one household of Muggles that somehow had not one, but _three_ magically gifted children.

And one that apparently was in the middle of a household row, if the raised voices coming from within were any indication. She immediately wished that she had gotten the assignment to collect Harry Potter instead, but Albus had deemed that Hagrid was a better choice for the task. The voices inside fell silent soon after she had knocked on the door, and she could hear footsteps stomping towards it.

Within moments she found herself face-to-face with who she supposed was the owner of the house. A brunette that was clad in a thick woollen bathrobe, who looked her up and down once and scowled. "A pointed 'at, some black robes...I hope zis is not a joke. My partner 'as roped you into zis, 'as she not?!" she all but snarled. Minerva raised an eyebrow at the rather hostile greeting. Who was her 'partner'? "Pretending that you are not aware of what you are doing, hm? Non, zat will not do. Not at all. Out!"

"Lucille, please," pleaded another woman from inside. Her voice was much more reserved than the fiery French brunette that had greeted Minerva. When the deputy headmistress saw the slender red-haired woman that had calmed the brunette, Minerva blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that I wasn't expecting visitors today. My name is Amanda Flynn. Who might I be speaking to?"

Both of the women looked too young to have had eleven-year-old children. Yet if the children were adopted, it seemed highly unlikely that all three would have gone to the same household. "Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," replied Minerva. "May I come in?"

The redheaded woman's face turned ashen white, as though she had seen something truly terrifying. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. Did you just say that you were...the deputy headmistress of...Hogwarts?"

"Yes, that would be correct,"

"A school of magic. 'Ow amusing," snorted Lucille, who whipped about and stormed back inside. "Magic does not exist,"

"I assure you, Miss Flynn-"

"Laurent,"

"Miss Laurent. I assure you that magic is indeed real,"

"Then prove it," challenged Lucille, turning up her nose at Minerva.

It took quite a bit of self-control for Minerva to not simply hex Lucille to prove her point. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that the two women had just been arguing. "If I could come in, it would be best to show you,"

Lucille nodded curtly, and Amanda ushered Minerva into their home. A 'home' would be a generous way to describe it, Minerva thought. The white tiled floors were clean and spotless. Nearly sterile, she would even say. There were no paintings, no decorations, no wall hangings or literally anything to show what they were interested in. The kitchen and dining room had little in the way of personality, being the same shade of white on literally every piece of furniture. Yes, even the dining table and the chairs were a stark shade of pure white. Only the countertops were different, being made of stainless steel. If she could use a single word to describe their home, it would be 'clinical'.

"Well?" demanded Lucille, tapping her foot and crossing her arms expectantly.

Taking out her wand, Minerva focused on the one thing that the home really needed at this time. Some form of colour – a splash of colour – anything to relieve it of the unimaginably dreary whiteness! "Orchideous!" she incanted, and a bouquet of colourful flowers burst out of the end of her wand with a flash of light. Keeping her wand trained on it, she levitated the bouquet onto the kitchen counter, next to the three Hogwarts letters that she could see.

"Would that be enough of a demonstration that magic is indeed real, Miss Laurent?" Minerva asked the stunned brunette, who was picking at the petals of the flowers in the bouquet – and even nibbled one of them to see if they were actually real.

"Zis...zis can't be right," Lucille breathed, looking rather pale. "I need to sit down. Amanda, please, could you get me a glass of water?"

Another wave of her wand, and Minerva had a crystal goblet full of water magically appear in Lucille's hands. "There is no need. There you go,"

"I...I..." stammered Lucille. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell back onto the nearest barstool, hyperventilating. Her fingers went slack and let go of the goblet in her hands, which smashed into a million little shards as it struck the tiled floor. "Oh, merde!"

"Evanesco," Minerva said, giving her wand a flick. The bits of glass vanished from the floor, and the water receded away to nothingness. "Nothing to be concerned about, Miss Laurent. Now, I imagine that the idea that magic exists might be quite distressing, but I assure you that it does exist. Judging by Miss Flynn's reaction, it appears that you have received the letters that I have written, and have read it. Would that be correct?"

"Yes, yes it is," answered Amanda. The redhead seemed to be taking the existence of magic quite well, which was quite surprising for Minerva as the typical response by Muggles tended to range between mocking disbelief and outright hostility. Or in the case of Lucille, shock so strong that she had nearly fainted. "However, I was under the impression that the letter was asking for some kind of answer by...owl?"

"For ordinary wizarding families, that is the usual way to answer to letters. However, as neither of you are witches, it falls to one of the staff of Hogwarts to inform students' parents of the existence of magic. As well as to assist them with acquiring the materials required for their children's magical studies, of course. Books, potion ingredients, gold-"

"Gold?" yelped Amanda, whose green eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of their sockets. "What would they need gold for?"

"To purchase things, of course," stated Minerva, taken aback by the woman's response. Was the concept of buying things using gold coins truly so strange to the Muggles? "Ordinarily, the staff of Hogwarts would take only the students to Diagon Alley to purchase their required items. However, I do not see any problems with taking one or both of you there as well, if you would like to know more about our world,"

Lucille and Amanda shared a look, before they both nodded in affirmation. "Excellent. Now, have you spoken to your three daughters regarding their enrolment?"

"No, I can't say that I have," Amanda replied, glancing in the direction of the three letters. "I've just received them today,"

"Well then, I suppose I shall explain-"

"Muuuuum!" a shrill screech came from somewhere else in the house. Heavy footsteps – the sort that one might expect from Hagrid – thundered from the floor above. A metal staircase that led upstairs shook and trembled with every step of whatever was coming down, prompting Minerva to grip her wand tighter. Did they have a troll or dragon upstairs?

What she did not expect, however, was to see a thin and rather tall young girl bounding down the staircase. Her hair, wet from what she could assume was a bath, lay in dripping limp sheets to her shoulders. With a simple white T-shirt and a pair of baggy camouflage-pattern cargo pants, one could almost mistake her for a boy if it weren't for the soft edges of her heart-shaped face and the red silk ribbon on her hair. If Minerva wasn't imagining things, the girl had the exact same shade of both hair and eye colour as Amanda.

When the girl spotted her, however, she froze in her tracks. "Um...hi?" she said nervously.

"Zoe," sighed Amanda, "Introduce yourself properly,"

"But I'm not Zoe," she retorted, pouting.

"Ze red ribbon says otherwise, ma fille," Lucille said, motioning for the girl to come closer. "Look at you. You're upset about something, are you not? What's wrong?"

"Zoe took my ribbon. The green one. She put hers on me and won't give mine back,"

"Ah," Lucille replied, realising the problem. Turning to face the ceiling, she shouted, "Orianna! Please get your sister to give back Aveline's 'eadband!"

The sounds of a scuffle and a pained yelp came from upstairs, followed by another set of thunderous stomping footsteps. This time, however, the staircase shook with twice as much force as another red-headed girl was frog-marched down the stairs by her sister. If it were not for the ribbons in their hair, it would have been nearly impossible to tell them apart at a distance. Closer up, however, the vast differences in their demeanour became rather clear.

"Orianna, you don't have to manhandle your sister every time she pranks Aveline. You've been listening to Uncle Adams too much, haven't you?" sighed Amanda as she gently pried the girl off her black-ribboned sister. "And Zoe, Aveline is your sister. Do you really have to prank her every time she takes a bath? That isn't how sisters should act to each other,"

"Sorry mum," Zoe said, though her cheeky grin said that she was anything but sorry. "Ivy wasn't looking though! She's totally asking for it,"

"It isn't me you should be apologising to. And if you want to apologise, Zoe, you have to mean it. Aveline, come here. Give back Zoe's ribbon. And Zoe, give Aveline her ribbon back,"

When Zoe saw an icy glare from the third sister – Orianna, Minerva reminded herself – the headbands exchanged hands. Aveline smiled from ear to ear as she tied the ribbon back on her hair. Hair which Minerva noted had somehow become completely dry within a minute, despite having been dripping wet on coming down to the kitchen. A sure sign of wandless magic, though whether it was accidental or not remained to be seen.

Lucille coughed, getting the attention of her daughters. "Girls," she said, "There iz someone that wishes to speak with you. Zis is Professor McGonagall, of ze 'Ogwash-"

"Hogwarts,"

"-School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,"

Zoe and Aveline looked at each other in confusion before chorusing, "MAGIC IS REAL?"

"Indeed it is, girls," Lucille answered.

"But mum, you always said that our other mum was going mad," protested Zoe.

"Well, I suppose zat-" she pointed to the bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter, "-'ad changed my mind. Professor McGonagall 'ad conjured them out of thin air,"

"Could you show us?" Aveline asked excitedly.

"Girls. Introduce yourselves before asking," Amanda warned them, causing Aveline to give a tiny 'eep!' and shrink back. "Properly," Amanda added as an afterthought.

Orianna was the first to introduce herself, offering a rather cold and reserved greeting that Minerva had expected mostly from children of ancient wizarding families. Zoe and Aveline, however, reacted much the same as other Muggleborn children that she had picked up before. As soon as they had hastily introduced themselves, they began bombarding her with questions, speaking over each other in an effort to be heard first.

Oh, the excitability of youth. It never ceased to amuse her. After seeing Minerva conjure a teacup from thin air, and then transforming it into a fluffy white rabbit, Aveline whooped and slapped her sterner sister on the back. "See, Ori!? I told you magic was real!"

"Fine, Aveline," huffed Orianna, "I guess it's _possible_ that you could've dried your hair just by thinking about it, and it wasn't just something you imagined while using a towel,"

"Oh, you're no fun," pouted Aveline. Turning to look at Minerva again, she bounced up and down as she asked, "Are there more things that magic can do? Can you fly? Can you get rabbits out of a hat? Can you-"

"Aveline," Amanda warned her child, "Slow down,"

"Eep! Sorry! I ran my mouth off again, didn't I?"

"Thank you, Miss Flynn, though I think that Aveline's enthusiasm should be encouraged," Minerva said, smiling at the excitable child. Her sunny disposition was very much infectious. "Yes, there are many more things that magic can do. Which is why I'm here to take you shopping to Diagon Alley, so that you may purchase your school equipment,"

"Wait a minute. We haven't even agreed to enrolling our children yet!" Amanda spoke up. She looked at two of her three children who were giving her their best impression of hurt puppies and sighed. "As much as I can see that Zoe and Aveline want to learn how to use magic, I need to know more. Where is this school exactly, and how are they getting there? And what will they be learning?"

"I cannot say the exact location of the school, as there are magical protections preventing me from doing so," replied Minerva, "Though as to how your children will arrive there, I can answer that. Hogwarts students arrive on Platform Nine and Three Quarters from King's Cross Station,"

"Nine and Three Quarters? That makes very little sense. There is either a platform, or there isn't,"

"It will make far more sense on the day. There is always a wizard or a witch on duty to help new Muggleborn witches and wizards find the platform. They are able to detect magical signatures on sight, so you do not need to worry about finding him or her. As to what they will be learning, they will learn the fundamentals of magic and how to use it,"

"'Ow about 'istory? Mathematics? Ze sciences?" muttered Lucille, who was eyeing the bouquet of flowers that Zoe was now poking and prodding.

"There is a class on the history of magic, and I suppose that you are speaking about Arithmancy, which is a unique branch of magic. As for the sciences, I hardly think that Muggle science would be appropriate for us to teach. A combination of Charms, Transfiguration and Potions would be able to cover everything that outdated Muggle science could ever achieve,"

Which, evidently, was the wrong thing to say, as a disapproving scowl flashed across both Amanda's and Lucille's faces. Nevertheless, they soon resumed impassive faces moments after their slip, but Minerva knew that she had to convince them that using magic was actually a superior way of going about their daily lives.

"I see," Amanda said. "This is...hm. I think that I and my partner would like to discuss this further. In private,"

"Of course. Take your time," Minerva said, nodding.

* * *

Amanda and Lucille retreated into their bedroom, closing the door behind them. For a few minutes, both remained silent; Amanda thinking of whether or not to accept this Professor McGonagall's offer, while Lucille chewed on her lips as she often did while nervous. Lucille was the first to speak, approaching Amanda and laying her head in the crook of Amanda's neck.

"I'm so sorry," murmured the Frenchwoman, "I thought zat you were simply imagining things before for years. Per'aps even a mental illness. Now...now I am not too sure,"

"Don't be sorry," Amanda replied softly, putting her hands around her partner and pulling her into a tight embrace. "I suppose I was equally obsessed with finding out the truth about the existence of something that I could see, but couldn't prove to anyone else. And your reaction today just showed me that I really hadn't been paying attention to you as much as I should have,"

A cheeky grin crept onto Lucille's face. "But it iz not too late for you to pay attention, non?"

Amanda blinked once. She choked back a laugh, clutching her stomach. "Oh, you're incorrigible! Of course _that_ would be the very first thing that you would want, isn't it? Yes, yes, it isn't too late for me to pay attention to you, dear – and I'll make it up to you. First thing tonight, after the children go to sleep. I promise,"

Then her face grew stern. "But we can talk about that later. We've got a more pressing problem on our hands,"

"Magic?"

"Magic. And the people using it," Amanda muttered, "So evidently, there is an underground society in Britain that uses this...magic. And it appears that they have taken great pains to hide from the rest of us,"

"Oui. Zat is indeed a problem. Why would they be so secretive?"

"I don't know. Part of me wants to find out more about this society. About what they could do and what they could offer us, or what we could do for them. But another part is worried. I'm worried, Lucille. What would happen to our children when we're not around to help? You know that Adams isn't the most patient of people, but at least he keeps them safe when he's training them. We don't know anything about these people and what they're capable of, or whether they even follow the same laws and rules that we do,"

"Amanda," said Lucille, "I don't have an answer to that. But per'aps we should give our daughters ze choice?"

"If it were that simple, then I would have decided there and then. Did you see the way Zoe and Aveline looked at what this Professor McGonagall did with her magic stick?"

Lucille smiled. "Oui. I 'ave not seen them zis happy in years. And even Ori is somewhat impressed,"

"How would you know that?" asked Amanda incredulously, "Even I can hardly tell when Orianna is actually happy,"

With a gentle, tinkling laugh, Lucille planted a kiss on Amanda's cheek. "Because I've been with you for many years, ma cherie. You and she are not so different,"

"Well, that settles it. I suppose they could attend this Hogwarts, if all three of them are enthusiastic about going," replied Amanda, rubbing the back of her head. "But what was mentioned about the complete lack of scientific instruction worries me. How are they supposed to know how the world actually functions?"

"I zink we shall get to zat later. For now, let us see what zey 'ave to offer. A trip to zis Diagon Alley might be quite...enlightening,"

* * *

A/N:

So now Lucille understands that Amanda is not a schizophrenic scientist, and that magic is actually real. Let's see what they think of the magical world after they go on a trip to Diagon Alley!

LordMesirix: No, those things are removed from this instance of the story as they detract from the initial premise.

Dragon Man 180: *attempts Force Choke on General Adams* *fails* DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY, SOLDIER! T.T

As for which babies are magical, it's not all six nor is it just one.

Fmvm: Yes, the thoughts are definitely missing from the other version, which makes it a fair bit harder to imagine what the characters are thinking at any given time. It's much easier to show the differences in each character's perspective this way.

Stay tuned for more, folks!

-ArcturusWolf

Edit 10/9/17: Fixed a missing section of text that was accidentally deleted.


	3. Diagon Alley

"Remind me to not accept an offer to travel that way again," moaned Amanda. She was doubled over and dry-heaving into the nearest trashcan in a dingy pub called The Leaky Cauldron, trying her best to not void her breakfast into it. Beside her, all three of her daughters were looking rather pale and ill, and her partner looked not much better. She should have just taken the train to Charing Cross and just met Professor McGonagall outside the pub.

How embarrassing it must have looked. A grown woman in a black business suit, heaving over a bin like a drunk. And it wasn't even twelve o'clock yet!

"If you had a fireplace in your home, there would have been a better way," Professor McGonagall replied.

"That time of the year again is it, Minnie?" chuckled the ancient bartender with a toothless grin. "Guiding the little'uns? Hagrid isn't doing it this time?"

"There's more this year than Hagrid can handle, Tom,"

"More, eh? Well, always good to see more new magical children coming around. Well, you don't look like the magical sort, so I suppose I should make you feel welcome. A shot of Firewhiskey, perhaps, to pep you up?"

"It iz too early to be drinking, monsieur," Lucille glared, "And we 'ave our daughters 'ere with us,"

"Well, suit yourself. Minnie, the usual for you?"

"Not today, Tom. Amanda, if you are quite finished with the bin, we should move along. I have another appointment after lunchtime, and we have quite a list of items to collect,"

The entryway to the Wizarding World was as bizarre as it was outrageously mundane. Had someone informed any of them that the only thing separating non-magical London from magical London was a brick wall that shifted into an archway, Amanda would've simply laughed in their face. But here was the proof that sometimes the most incredible sights lay hidden behind the most simple of facades.

A cobblestone street stretched on its winding course through a haphazard collection of stores. Crates of books, strange herbs, woods and bottles filled with all manner of liquids lined the streets, sitting in front of storefronts lit by what looked like wrought iron gaslamps filled with strange blue flames. Colourful puffs of smoke emerged from the chimney of a shop styling itself as _Gambol and Japes' Wizarding Joke Shop,_ while boxes filled with croaking toads wobbled in front of _Magical Menagerie_.

"Aveline. Zoe," Amanda warned her two children, who were nearly bouncing up and down in excitement, "Behave yourselves,"

"But-but-muuuum!" whined Aveline, "There's so much to see here! Ooooh, that girl has an owl,"

"You'll have plenty of time to browse through all the shops later. Besides, you won't be able to buy anything yet. I don't think that these wizards and witches accept credit cards,"

True enough, a boy that had just bought ice-cream from _Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour_ was idly flipping a fat silver coin in his palm. "We'll need to find some way of exchanging currency first to something that would be acceptable. Professor McGonagall, is there...a money-changer, or a bank here?"

"That would be Gringotts Wizarding Bank, at the very end of Diagon Alley. Which would be our first stop, in any case,"

Inside Gringotts, Amanda was even more surprised to see the sheer opulence of the place. Marble floors with gold and silver inlays were lit by golden chandeliers with the clearest, largest crystals that she had ever seen. Truthfully, if it were not for the hundreds of creatures counting gold and silver coins and hastily scribbling things into ledgers at a long table to her side, she would have mistaken the hall for some kind of noble lord's house.

"Goblins," Professor McGonagall explained, noticing Amanda's curious stare. "They are magical creatures which look after Wizarding finances,"

A free goblin at the nearest counter motioned for them to come forward. "Good morning, master goblin," Professor McGonagall spoke, "This woman wishes to exchange Muggle money for Galleons, Sickles and Knuts,"

"Galleons, Sickles and Knuts?" queried Amanda, unfamiliar with what she assumed were denominations of magical money. The goblin, however, was all too familiar with the question asked by first-time visitors from a non-magical background, and put three different coins on the counter in front of him.

"Galleons are the gold coins," he said in a gruff voice, "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle,"

"Zat seems rather arbitrary, don't you think?" Lucille commented, frowning. Amanda had to agree; the divisions of magical money didn't really help with quick calculations.

"It is as it always has been, human. If it works, it doesn't get changed. Now, how many Galleons, Sickles and Knuts do you need?"

"Five hundred Galleons should be enough," Professor McGonagall answered for them.

"The current exchange rate is fifteen pounds to a Galleon. And I will require a name for the transaction logs,"

Amanda looked at Lucille, who had a deep frown on her face. Lucille was the one that handled the finances in the household, and to see her worried did not fill Amanda with much confidence. Did they really burn through the government stipend so quickly? She knew that her three kids inhaled food as fish would drink water, but to think that several thousand pounds a month would fall short was unthinkable.

"Amanda Flynn," Lucille said, finally fishing her purse out of her handbag. Counting out a stack of two thousand pounds, she held it out for the goblin to take – but the goblin held up his hand.

"Amanda Flynn, is it?" the goblin grumbled, glancing at the two women. "Let me check my transaction logs. Findlay...Finnegan...Fletchley...Flynn. There appears to be a deposit made in your name already,"

"That can't be correct. This is the first time I've been here," Amanda murmured, confused. Professor McGonagall was likewise confused, her brows knitted together.

"A deposit was made in your name, on the twenty-third of September, 1990, by one Phineas No-Name, formerly of House Black," the goblin read from his logs, "To the sum of three thousand, two hundred and fifty Galleons. A high-security vault had also been purchased in your name by the aforementioned man for the sum of one thousand, three hundred and fifty Galleons, deducted from the deposit. Which therefore brings the total down to one thousand and nine hundred Galleons in total. There has also been a transfer of artifacts recorded from the No-Name's vault, along with...a will reading,"

Phineas. That was the name of their children's genetic father. Three thousand odd galleons was not a small sum of cash to be given. And the goblin had even mentioned that there was a...will reading?

Her heart dropped a little. As mysterious as the man was, he was still her children's father. Why wasn't she informed of his passing?

"May we read the will?" asked Amanda.

"Certainly, once we have confirmed your identities. But I am not the goblin you should be speaking to regarding this matter. Snapjaw!"

A short, swarthy goblin with a beard that nearly reached the floor waddled towards them. He looked ancient; hunched over while leaning on a staff, with teeth that looked nearly rotten and enough wrinkles to put a walnut to shame. "Yes?" he wheezed.

"Will reading on Phineas No-Name's account, Snapjaw. Miss Flynn, this is Snapjaw, Phineas No-Name's vault manager. If you would follow him to a private office, he will be able to perform the will reading. Provided, of course, that you can confirm your identity first,"

As Amanda tentatively followed the goblin, she noticed that Professor McGonagall simply stood by the goblin teller's counter. "Professor McGonagall, aren't you coming?"

"A will reading is a highly private matter in the magical world, owing to the potential contents of the letter," she answered, shaking her head. "It would be very rude to intrude if I am not listed as one of the recipients,"

"Alright. Children, stay here with Professor McGonagall. I don't think we'll be too long,"

Snapjaw led Amanda and Lucille down the hall to a small, cramped office in a dark corner of the bank. There was only the slightest sliver of light coming in from a narrow slit window high in the back wall. A heavy wooden desk filled up most of the room, with a few battered wooden chairs arrayed in front of it. "Please have a seat," he said, opening up a filing cabinet tucked underneath the desk.

After both women had seated themselves and the door securely shut behind them, Snapjaw placed a stone basin and a small obsidian knife in front of them. "I require a confirmation of your identities. If you would drop some blood from a finger into this basin and speak your full name clearly, it would be greatly appreciated. If you are who you say you are, the basin will glow gold; if you are not, then it will glow red,"

"Is zis...sanitary?" said Lucille, eyeing the knife with distrust.

"The knife is enchanted to heal the cut immediately after enough blood has been drawn. You have no need to worry," he reassured her. "Now, which one of you claims to be the subject of this will?"

Amanda picked up the knife and ran its edge along her thumb, dripping a few droplets of blood into it. "Amanda Rosalind Flynn," she said clearly. She was astonished that the cut on her thumb healed nearly instantly; but even more astonished when the basin did indeed glow gold afterwards.

"Very well, that confirms your identity, Miss Flynn. If I could have the knife back—thank you very much. Are there any questions you would like to ask before I begin reading this will?"

"How does that basin work?" Amanda asked, curiously watching the glowing writing on the edges of the stone basin.

"I cannot answer that question. I can tell you, however, that it is enchanted with ancient goblin magics. Any others?"

She shook her head. "Very well. The will in Phineas No-Name's vault had been transferred here as his vault was closed on his death,"

"What happened to the contents of his vault?"

"Its contents have all been transferred to the new vault in your name, approximately two months before he passed away. Any other questions?"

That confused Amanda even further. To transfer the contents of his vault – all of it – into what was supposedly now hers meant that Phineas was aware of his coming death. Was he terminally ill at the time? She swore that the man she met eleven years ago was as hale and healthy as any man could be. It made so little sense to her.

"None, thank you,"

"Very well. Do you consent to Miss...?"

"Lucille. Lucille Isabelle Laurent. Do you require my identity verified as well?"

"No, but thank you for offering. The will only stipulated that Miss Flynn be present at the time of reading. Do you consent to Miss Laurent being present for this reading, Miss Flynn?"

"I do,"

"As you wish. The will of one Phineas Iolus No-Name, formerly of House Black, shall be read on this day, Saturday the fourteenth of July. One Lucille Isabelle Laurent, along with the intended recipient Amanda Rosalind Flynn, bears witness to its reading, in the presence of its executor, Vault Manager Snapjaw. By the old rites of magic and the new, this I swear to be true. So mote it be,"

A white flash of light enveloped all three of them. "The contents of the will are as follows. Dearest Amanda. I hope that you are well. If you are reading this, then your ambitions have succeeded, and our children are healthy. I can ask for no greater gift than three gifted children, who I hope shall someday shine as brightly as the sun above us all. As I write this, I feel a great deal of hope and pride in what we have accomplished together; and also a great deal of shame in having to hide myself for years, out of your sight and the sight of our children. Yet I do this knowing that for something new to arise, it must find its own way, unfettered by the shackles of the past,"

Shackles of the past? Finding its own way? Something new to arise? Amanda was confused. Why on earth would Phineas hide from her? From Lucille? From their children? What did he mean by all that?

"I have lived for more than a century. Disowned by my family for consorting with non-magicals, ridiculed for learning the advancements in Muggle society. I have lived through a world war, both mundane and magical. And I grow weary of seeing the constant cycle of growth and destruction, generation after generation. The magicals fear and hate the non-magicals for what they do not know, and the non-magicals were always rejected for trying to blend into a society that others felt was not theirs. Distrust breeds hate, and hate breeds violence. Violence brings death and destruction. I do not know how old Flamel has managed to live through six hundred years without feeling the despair that claws at my heart; but perhaps you may be able to find a bright spark where I could not,"

"Well, zat is certainly dark," muttered Lucille.

"To you, I leave my imperfect copy of Flamel's greatest work, the Philosopher's Stone. It may not be able to transmute lead into gold, and it may not be able to produce an endless amount of the coveted life-giving elixir as the true Stone is capable of, but it is my hope that it will grant you sufficient time to usher in a new era. An era of peace and unity between Muggle and Magical. The Elixir that I had sent you in the mail is ten years' worth of time, enough for my Stone to rest and recover its potency without myself using it,"

"Hm. It seems that his writing has become somewhat unsteady," Trapjaw said, grimacing as he squinted at the text. "I may be a little slower from this point on as I try to decipher it,"

"I feel the stolen years catching up to me. I will no longer tarry and describe what I shall leave behind, before I can no longer write. To Lucille, gentle companion and lover to Amanda, I leave to you five hundred Galleons' worth of gold and silver. Though others might scorn your relationship, I know that there can be no other that would light such a bright flame in Amanda's icy heart. The warmth of love, whatever its form, is a gift to my children - to your children. The value of this gift is immeasurable, and cannot be overstated. May you find contentment and joy in the rest of your years,"

"'ow thoughtful and sweet of 'im,"

"To Amanda, I give to you the rest of my vault's contents, minus the goblin silver plates, goblets and cutlery-"

"Really?" Amanda snorted. Lucille looked completely nonplussed by the apparently non-sequitur and extremely specific instruction in the will. "Cutlery and tableware? That actually needed to be mentioned in a will?"

"I'll have you know that goblin silver is exceptionally valuable, Miss Flynn. Many wizards and witches have lived without ever laying their hands on a piece of it," Snapjaw spoke, glaring at her. "Let us continue the reading. This should be sufficient gold to cover your expenses for the coming years. It will not be enough to give you or our children a luxurious life, but it should help to take the edge off the burden of caring for such a large family. To Snapjaw-" the goblin actually looked somewhat humbled, "-I return to the goblin clans of Gringotts the pieces of goblin silver that was in my care. May this last act of friendship between us seal this writ in stone, silver and blood, and that you will keep our secrets to the grave. I grow weary, and I wish for no more than to sleep. May we meet again in the next life. Amanda, Lucille, Zoe, Aveline and Orianna, as well as the three others without the gift of magic who were separated. Phineas Iolus No-Name, formerly of House Black. Toujours aimant. 1878 – 1990,"

Silence followed that sentence as Amanda's brain tried desperately to process it – and failed. Lucille was likewise stunned by that declaration, her jaw dropping wide open.

"He was...he was a _hundred and twelve years old?!_ " Amanda squeaked out, causing Snapjaw to snort.

"Wizards tend to live longer lives than non-magicals, yes," the goblin spoke, "But that age certainly is venerable, even for a wizard,"

"If I may ask, Monsieur Snapjaw," Lucille asked, "How old are you?"

"One hundred and seventy-one years," he grinned, "And still healthy!"

"Incredible. Such a venerable age,"

"Indeed. Now, we must get back to business, as time is money. The contents of your vault, obviously, is an extremely sensitive matter. Are you aware of what the Philosopher's Stone is, Miss Flynn? Miss Laurent?"

Lucille shook her head, while Amanda remained motionless. That red liquid that she had dosed both Lucille and herself with – that was the Elixir of Life, as it was described in myth! And now she knew where it had come from!

"It is a stone which supposedly transmutes lead to gold, and produces for its bearer an unlimited supply of life-extending and youth-preserving potion. So far, we are aware only of the existence of one such stone. The lesser stone, which is in your vault, only produces very limited amounts of this potion. I do not know how Phineas had come across it, or if he had made it. However, you can be assured that if word of it gets out, there may be unsavoury attempts by people to...acquire it,"

The two women nodded gravely. It was not only the magicals that would try to acquire something like that. Many people in the mundane world would _kill_ to have even a few doses of the Elixir. Needless to say, even their superiors needed to be kept in the dark about the Stone's existence, at least until they could work out what to do about it. "So what must we do to keep it safe and secure? And above all, secret?"

"Nothing," Snapjaw said simply. "Phineas has, by voluntarily returning ancient goblin silver artifacts, created a debt of gratitude between the Goblin Clans of Gringotts and himself. And we always keep our word, Miss Flynn; after all, it would be bad for business if we were found to be untrustworthy. If he requested utmost secrecy, it will be done. I shall tell the other goblins that an instruction of complete silence exists on the contents of Vault Sixty-Six. Now, is there anything else that you require with regards to your vault? If I would suggest, I could look after the vault for you, rather than have another goblin that you have not met,"

That was a reasonable offer, Amanda thought. If the goblins were as trustworthy as he claimed, then having one that was in your debt looking after your vaults was always a good idea. "I think that should be fine. If I could get five hundred Galleons out of the vault today, Snapjaw, and a bottle of Elixir,"

"Done. I shall retrieve the items for you,"

* * *

Minerva was getting rather restless by the time the two women emerged from the back rooms twenty minutes later. They still had many items to obtain, some of which would take quite some time to buy. There was a heavy gold pouch in Amanda's hands, and an absolutely minuscule steel box in Lucille's. "Are we done, then?" she asked, checking the time again. It was an hour till noon, at which time she needed to be someplace else.

"Yes. We have the gold, and...what Phineas has left us. Let's finish buying things," Amanda replied.

"What's in the box, mum?" Aveline asked.

"Not here, Aveline, dear. Zis is between just myself and your maman,"

"Aww. Can't you tell us?"

"No," Amanda replied curtly. "And if you keep asking, Aveline, you won't be getting dessert after dinner,"

That immediately silenced Aveline, though the young girl looked rather unhappy about it. "Well then, if that is settled, we should obtain some wands for the three of you. Mister Ollivander's wandshop is just down the street, and is where most of our students obtain their wands,"

She wasn't about to tell them that there were other, less reputable wandmakers, of course. Garrick Ollivander was a master wandmaker for a reason, but the main reason why he was so highly recommended was because he was the only one with a ministry permit to operate in Diagon Alley. Which meant that he was only able to sell wands with a Trace and a magical flux-limiting charm until the user came of age.

"382 BC. Wow, that's really old," gasped Zoe.

Orianna simply nodded stoically, quietly observing each wand on display in the window, just as she observed the goblins working in Gringotts. At times Minerva wondered how the three children could be so different. Aveline was a sweet and excitable girl with many questions, soaking up whatever she was told like a sponge. Zoe had an impish and mischievous air about her, likely considering every possible way to prank everyone she met. Orianna, however, was brooding and silent for most of the time, with the cold fire of intelligence burning behind her watchful eyes.

The Sorting would certainly be something to watch out for that year, indeed. Doubly so when she recalled the Boy-Who-Lived was also enrolling at the same time.

Garrick had been pleasantly surprised to see that he would be matching wands for triplets. At first, the man thought of matching one of them first, and then offering similar wands for each one; a most unwise decision, considering that each attempt caused quite a few shelves, pieces of furniture and other bits and pieces to be blown to shreds by stray blasts of magic. Nothing that couldn't be fixed with a quick repair charm, but even Minerva had to stifle a smirk when she saw the horrified faces of their parents.

After going through what must have been half the store's stock, the three girls had finally been matched to their wands. Aveline had been matched to a fourteen-inch rosewood wand with a unicorn tail hair core; Zoe received a thirteen-inch dogwood wand with a phoenix feather. The two girls had not taken long to match. Instead, it had been their brooding sister that had taken most of the time in Ollivander's wand shop. Wand after wand rejected her, until eventually perhaps Merlin had pity on poor Garrick and selected for Orianna a sixteen-inch yew wand, with a Thestral tail hair as a core.

A somewhat unsettling combination, Minerva thought to herself, considering both the core and the wood were supposedly linked to death according to Garrick. She would have to let Albus know of this development.

"That would be eight Galleons for each wand, Miss Flynn," Garrick said with a broad grin, clearly enjoying the way that both Lucille and Amanda were swaying unsteadily on the spot, both looking extremely pale. The store looked as though a hurricane had passed through and thrown everything about, and no doubt the two were thinking that they needed to replace everything that had been damaged.

"Are you sure that would cover everything?" Amanda said nervously, scanning the virtually destroyed store.

"Miss Flynn, I assure you that everything you see here," Garrick swept his arms across the room, indicating the destroyed wand displays, racks and shelves, "Is perfectly normal. If I may demonstrate why, perhaps you would understand,"

With a wave of his wand, all the broken bits of wood flew from the floor and back to their positions on the walls, reforming shelves and racks. Boxes uncrumpled themselves and collected wands that had been scattered about; glass pieces melted back together into lamps and display cases. Even the remains of the broken iron chandelier that had fallen down flew back up and fused back together again, as though nothing had happened. "There. No harm done,"

"Well then, if you say so," Amanda replied, clearly in awe at the display of magic. She counted out twenty-four Galleons from her purse and handed it over to the wandmaker.

"A pleasure finding wands for your daughters, Miss Flynn. I have not had such excitement in quite some time. Please, if you ever need your wand repaired or serviced, come and see me again,"

Amanda was struggling to calm her nerves. She had seen explosions happen in laboratories before. That was part and parcel of being a scientist, though normally it was under controlled conditions – and usually in a division well away from hers. What she had seen in the wand-shop – waves of energy emanating from those sticks that her daughter carried and shattering, smashing or blasting whatever they connected with – it was uncontrolled and highly dangerous. What were these magical people thinking, distributing these wands to children? What if one of those 'accidental' blasts struck someone?

"It seems that I am nearly out of time to assist you with your purchases," Professor McGonagall said, noting the time on a clock in front of the ice-cream parlour. "I believe that the rest of the purchases on the list should be fairly self-explanatory,"

"Indeed, Professor. Thank you for your help today," replied Amanda, eyeing the way that Zoe and Aveline were examining each other's wands and giggling merrily. "Should I be worried about any...accidental explosions?"

"There should not be an issue. Once a wand has chosen its owner, it is normally quite resistant to others' attempts to use it. Of course, there is always the possibility of a witch or a wizard dominating another person's wand by force of willpower, but I highly doubt that a first-year student would be able to achieve such a feat,"

Her answer reassured Amanda somewhat. At least there wouldn't be explosions happening in her house by one of her children playing around with one of their sisters' wands. That would be both difficult to explain and to clean up, if it ever happened. As she looked down the list of things that she needed to purchase for her children, she felt a profound sense of relief wash over her. At least none of the other items looked dangerous to handle. Clothes, astronomy equipment, chem- _alchemy_ \- equipment, and books. Nothing that might explode, burn, freeze, cut or otherwise injure them or anyone else in their immediate vicinity.

* * *

A/N:

Welp, another one down. Shopping spree completed!

Fmvm: Even if someone were to tell the military that the children were magical, they'd be laughed at for being apparently crazy. And if they were to try and prove it by casting magic, the Trace on the wands would immediately alert the Ministry, and everyone on site would be Obliviated in short order - and the children thrown into custody because they would have broken the Statute of Secrecy. As far as children in the control group being sent to Hogwarts, that's not likely. In this case, the three that are not with Amanda are Squibs and have no active magical powers. Adams, however, will be a real obstacle to schooling the three magical kids in Hogwarts, yes.

LordMesirix: Well, magical society in England is kind of mired in 17th or 18th century traditions in the story. They still use physical coins instead of banknotes of any sort, which is what has Lucille extremely worried. Because assuming that a golden Galleon is entirely pure gold (it's quite a big coin), it is actually worth more as bullion than its face value says.

KyuubiNoPuma: Squibbed out.


	4. Through the Looking-Glass

The incessant hammering of a heavy fist on her front door awoke Amanda from her slumber on the Monday after her visit to Diagon Alley. A quick glance at the bedside window showed her that the sun had just barely begun to creep over the horizon. Muttering some choice curse words under her breath, she turned around and tried to return to sleep. Surely nobody important could be calling in _that_ early.

Or could they? The pounding on the door certainly didn't stop. With an angry sigh, Amanda slid off her bed and put a soft kiss on her softly-snoring partner's cheek. "I'll be right back," muttered Amanda.

Slipping on a pair of slippers and a fluffy bathrobe, she slowly ambled down the stairs. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she grumbled, hearing her door being assaulted for what must have been the hundredth time that morning.

When she finally unlocked the door and threw it open, she came face-to-face with a decidedly unimpressed General Adams, clad in an olive green trench coat and chewing on the stub of a cigar. Unimpressed likely being the understatement of the year, given the furious scowl on his face – and the vicious way in which he spat the cigar stub to the ground. "Ah. General Adams," Amanda said, trying to stifle a yawn and failing.

"Dr. Flynn," he snarled, "I should've known you'd get lazy after being moved away from that laboratory,"

"Which, might I remind you, was on your orders," Amanda shot back, nettled that this man – general or not – dared to insult her this early in the morning. With her not having had even a single drop of coffee yet. "And seeing as I am barred from taking any productive work on those very orders, I have nothing to do except to care for my daughters. Now what is it that you want? Proof that my daughters are being physically trained? You've seen them running about-"

"Spare me the useless words, woman. You know damn well why I'm here,"

Now that actually confused her for a moment. "Excuse me?" she asked, her brows furrowing. Adams took out a thick yellow folder from his trench coat at that comment and gestured for her to go inside.

"Get in, and I'll show you what you really should know,"

With the beefy man virtually herding her towards her living room, Amanda had no choice but to march herself straight to a couch and sit down. After closing the door behind him, Adams sat down on the couch opposite hers, slapping the folder down onto the table. Numerous photographs spilled out of the folder. At the top of the pile was a photograph of a robed figure with a pointed witches' hat standing outside her home. Lucille was clearly standing in the middle of the doorway speaking to the figure, her hair still dishevelled as it normally was in the morning. A date was scrawled into the corner; and as Amanda thought about it for a bit, she suddenly realised what that was of.

That was a photograph of Professor McGonagall and Lucille. Speaking on Saturday morning.

"That was at 8:45 in the morning. You invited her in at 8:55. And then nobody came out," he growled, "You know that you're being watched, woman. Every hour of the day. One of our spooks in the area got suspicious of what was happening when he couldn't hear anything happening in the house after a sound like a loud thunderclap came from inside. He broke into your house-"

"Excuse me?!" Amanda barked, furious at what he had just said. Breaking into her house?

"He has every right to do so, woman. Read the fine print on your contract," Adams said dismissively, "Now be quiet and let me finish. He found nobody in the house. Nobody. He alerted me to the fact that you were missing – and more importantly, that your girls are missing from the house. You know you triggered a manhunt across the entire city because you seemingly disappeared into thin air, woman?"

"I suppose it feels good to know that I'd be missed," Amanda said dryly. "No, I didn't know that it'd cause such a panic. Or that _someone_ felt it necessary to break into my house just to check if I was still inside,"

"If you were one of my men, I'd have you cleaning latrines for insubordination,"

A small creak came from the door of the living room, causing Amanda to snap around. There, poking her head into the living room and gawking like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, was Aveline. She was still in her nightshirt, her tangled hair barely hiding her bleary eyes. "U-uhh..." she stammered uncertainly, glancing between Amanda and Adams, "Did I...uh...get into something that I shouldn't?"

Before Amanda could open her mouth to send Aveline back to her room, Adams butted in and barked out, "Yes, yes you did, rookie. But you can get in here and speak, because your mother seems like she isn't willing to co-operate,"

Aveline looked at Adams, and then back to Amanda with pleading eyes. Stiffly, Amanda nodded, motioning for her to come in. It wasn't like she could argue back against the man when he really wanted something. After all, the brute could simply order her girls to be moved someplace else – and an 'accident' to be engineered for both herself and her partner. They didn't officially exist any more, after all.

"Okay, Uncle Adams," Aveline spoke softly. Amanda nearly retched. She didn't know why her girls all called Adams their uncle, but it was utterly infuriating! Doubly so when Aveline sat calmly next to the brute without question!

"Now, your mummy was someplace in London on Saturday morning, and I want to know where," Adams asked, his tone softening to just shy of a demand.

"But Professor McGonagall said that I should keep quiet about Diagon Alley," protested Aveline. She blanched and clamped her hands onto her mouth as she realised what she had just blurted out. Amanda sighed and facepalmed as she lamented Aveline's complete lack of discretion. Sometimes the girl was just too pure of mind for her own good.

"There, you see? At least your girl is more co-operative," Adams said with a smirk on his face. "Now. Explain everything,"

"How much are you already aware of?" Amanda sighed, seeing no way out of this.

"Enough to know that wherever you went, you reappeared in a busy section of Charing Cross Road," said the General, sifting through the photographs and pulling out a particularly blurry one. Perhaps it was taken by an older security camera; it was black and white, after all. "At 12:25 to be exact. With one of your daughters eating a...frog,"

There was a brief pause as Adams registered what he had just said, and he scrunched up his face in disgust. "What has that Frenchwoman been teaching them?!" he muttered under his breath. "Eating a whole frog?"

"But chocolate frogs are delicious!" Aveline argued back, pouting.

"Don't be daft. I saw the surveillance videos. Those frogs were twitching and wriggling in your hands. Chocolate does _not_ move!"

Before Aveline could say another word that would anger the choleric general, Amanda stepped in. "Enough, Aveline," she said firmly. "General, ordinary chocolate does not move on its own. Magical chocolate apparently does, from what I have observed,"

"I don't know who's more daft. Your daughter for claiming that she wasn't eating a frog, but chocolate; or you, woman, for that silly claim. Magic chocolate? Really?"

"Yes, magic chocolate. Aveline, you do have some left, correct?"

"Uhhh...I think so, mum,"

"You _think_ so? Aveline, we bought the three of you a whole _crate_ full of them each. To last _two weeks!_ " Amanda gasped, aghast. She shook her head in disbelief and then sternly said to her. "Get one of them. Bring it down here. Now,"

Aveline nodded quickly and bolted out of the room. Thunderous footsteps and tremors soon shook the house as the girl sprinted up the stairs and back into her room. "This had better be worth it, Flynn. If I find that you've been wasting my time with this..."

"Don't worry, General, I'm not,"

Sometimes she wondered how the other two girls – and Lucille – could stay asleep when Aveline was running about. At least Orianna held herself with quite a refined, ladylike bearing, while Zoe knew that she needed to keep her footsteps silent if she wanted to prank either of her sisters. Aveline, however, was a literal bull in a china shop. Another set of earth-shaking tremors rocked the house to announce her imminent return; Amanda quietly made a note to herself to order an engineer to reinforce the second floor's structure when her children would be away in Hogwarts.

The possibility of which, she reminded herself, hinged entirely on convincing Adams that it was a good idea.

"Here it is! It's the last one in my box!" Aveline announced happily, clutching a twitching Chocolate Frog in her hand. As well as a small card in her other. "Aww, I got Merlin again,"

General Adams took one look at the struggling treat in Aveline's hand and stood up so fast that he nearly flipped the couch he was sitting on. "What on God's green Earth is this sh-"

"Language!" hissed Amanda, knowing the general's propensity for coarse language.

"Ah, that's right. This rookie is a young child with sensitive ears," he mumbled, "Sorry, kid. I meant to say, what on Earth are you holding?"

"It's a Chocolate Frog, a chocolate treat that we bought in Diagon Alley. And this is a card that comes in the packs,"

"A chocolate treat that moves on its own, and a...card with moving pictures. In perfect colour," Adams mumbled, taking the card out of Aveline's hand and holding it up. The picture of a wizard in blue robes and a magnificent beard was snoring in its picture, a small bubble growing every time he puffed out a bit of air. "Now I've seen it all. How does this even work?"

"I don't really know, uncle. It's just...magic, I guess?"

"Right. Magic," he replied sceptically, "Could've been just a trick of the light,"

"But light doesn't make things move, does it, uncle?" Aveline said, biting the leg off the chocolate treat in her hand. The frog wriggled and twitched in her hand, as though protesting against losing its leg. Adams nodded slowly, grinding his teeth as he realised the girl was right.

"Right. Magic. Where did you buy this, anyway? What is this...diagonally that you are speaking of? A direction to somewhere? And who is this Professor McGonagall?"

"Uh...Diagon Alley is a place. It's this street that's got a whole load of shops full of magic things in...uh...mum, help?"

"Charing Cross Road," Amanda finished for Aveline. "Behind a pub called the Leaky Cauldron,"

"A pub, eh? Well, not much of a pub considering that it's covered in cobwebs as thick as the bottom of my boot. You still haven't answered all my questions either, rookie. Who's this Professor that you're talking about, and how did you all get to Charing Cross without your car? We checked your garage and your car was still there when you all disappeared,"

"Teleportation,"

A pregnant silence filled the room as Adams processed what he had just heard. "Did I just hear you right? Teleportation, really?" he scoffed. "Ludicrous!"

"Unless you have another explanation, General, that is what it is," replied Amanda dryly. "You said to yourself that your agents found nobody leaving our house, and yet we were seen in Charing Cross at a little before half past one. What time did your agent check on us and confirm that our car was still in the garage?"

"A little before ten," he muttered. Realising the implications of what had just been brought to light, he added, "No. That is _not_ possible! Charing Cross from Surrey? That is a little over fifty kilometres by road!"

"Exactly, general. A marathon runner could complete the run in the required time, but does it look like either I or Lucille are capable of doing something like that? Without being spotted leaving the house, or by any of your other agents as we run through London? No, it was Professor McGonagall that had teleported us there to complete acquiring materials for my girls' magical education,"

There. The bomb had been dropped. Amanda took a deep breath and hoped that Adams would take it well. The last thing she wanted was an enraged general trashing her home. "Magical. Education," repeated Adams incredulously. "Explain, woman. Are you really off your rocker?"

"Aveline, go and get your Hogwarts letter. And that Murtlap Essence that is part of your potion ingredients kit,"

"Yes, mum,"

"And wake up Orianna. I think that Uncle Adams would prefer to speak with her rather than you or myself,"

As soon as Aveline disappeared again from the room, General Adams narrowed his eyes and leaned in towards Amanda. "You've really gone off the deep end, haven't you? Potion ingredient kit? Magical education? Teleportation?"

"Like I said, General, it is physically impossible for either myself or Lucille to have made our way, on foot, undetected by anyone, to Charing Cross from Surrey in a little over two hours. My daughters could, perhaps, given that they perform a five-mile run every morning on your orders, but even they would be quite exhausted after it. Yet do you see them exhausted in those photographs? And even if you don't believe that the Chocolate Frog card is magical, then at least I think you can see that the Chocolate Frog itself is magical in nature. I assure you, General, that I am still quite sane. You simply need to see the proof before your eyes and accept it for what it is,"

He opened and closed his mouth several times before finally shaking his head. "I'll listen to what Orianna has to say first," he snarled, furious at his inability to refute what Amanda had just said. Amanda merely nodded, knowing that her cold and dignified daughter was one of the few people that he favoured.

Aveline soon returned with Orianna in tow, and a couple of thick parchment letters in hand as well as a bottle of pale yellow liquid. Orianna's eyes were still half-lidded with how sleepy she was, but as soon as she spotted General Adams looking expectantly in her direction, her eyes shot open and she snapped off a crisp salute. "Sir!"

"At ease," Adams replied. Orianna slowly lowered her salute, but did not move. "Come here. I want to speak with you about a few things. And get your sister to show...whatever that is,"

"Our Hogwarts invitations. Sir,"

"Right. So, your mother has been telling me about all this guff about magic. And apparently, you and your sisters were selected to participate. Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir,"

"She said that on Saturday, you were teleported to this Diagon Alley place by a...Professor McGuffin?"

"Yes, sir, that would be right. It's also Professor McGonagall, sir,"

"And none of this is a joke?"

"No, sir. This is not a joke,"

The beefy man glared into her eyes as though trying to determine if she were lying, but Orianna simply maintained her cold gaze back at him in return. Perhaps deciding that Orianna was telling the truth, Adams slumped back into the couch and cradled his face in defeat. "God. You're serious, aren't you? All of you? You were actually teleported to Charing Cross from Surrey?"

"That would be exactly what I have been trying to tell you, General. Magic is real, and it seems that instant teleportation is something that these witches and wizards are capable of," said Amanda, taking the bottle of Murtlap Essence that Aveline had brought to her. "Among other things,"

"Tell me all you know about them, woman,"

Amanda grimaced as she thought about where to start. Eventually, she settled on simply recalling what little she had read from _A History of Magic,_ as well as what she had seen in Diagon Alley. The mention of a society that had for all intents and purposes seceded from Britain, yet remained inside its borders for nearly three centuries greatly troubled him. Doubly so when she described what she had read so far in the spellbooks. Spells to slice things, light up a wand, render a creature unconscious, and even conjure water from nothing.

By the end of it, she finished off with a demonstration of the effectiveness of potions. Using a kitchen knife, she slashed deeply into her left hand, and then poured some Murtlap Essence onto the wound. Right before their eyes, the bleeding slowed and stopped. Flesh knitted back together, and her skin simply melted back into place over it. In five minutes, there was only a faint pink line where the gash once was.

"That would be very useful for our soldiers on the field. Instant first aid for all sorts of injuries," said Adams. Amanda had to agree; something that healed wounds very quickly would be incredibly useful.

"Indeed. And this is only considered a raw material in the field of potionmaking. I don't know what else might be out there, as I haven't read much further into the book. I assume that there are far more potent mixtures out there,"

For once in the whole time that Amanda knew the man, he was in deep thought. After what seemed like an age of him pondering about something, he shook his head and looked back at Amanda. "This is very disturbing information. We don't know what these witches and wizards are fully capable of. Right now, I know that they can teleport across great distances in an instant. They can cast these spells from sticks-"

"Wands," corrected Amanda.

"Wands, sticks, big difference. The point is, they can supposedly cast these spells from whatever they carry and it could be anything. Since they have separated themselves from British society since the end of the seventeenth century, I'm supposed to report this to HQ as a potential separatist threat. But who's going to believe me if I report it like that? A society of witches and wizards that blend in among us?"

Amanda resisted the urge to point out the obvious. Like herself, he would likely be thrown into a mental institution if he tried to suggest the existence of magic. Even more likely than herself, considering that at least she had quite a significant amount of evidence of its existence backing her words.

"You're more logical than you usually are," she snarked.

"Oh, shut up. I might be hot-headed, but I'm not stupid," he snapped back, "Bah. I can't report this to HQ. Not unless I wanted an early retirement. But the potential threat still remains. We don't know what these wizards and witches can do. We don't know what they want, or anything about them, really. You said that Orianna is going to this...Hogwash School of Magic?"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,"

"Yeah. That one. You know that the initial plan was to have your three daughters enlisted in the Army Cadet Force while studying at Stonewall High," he said, causing both Orianna and Aveline to raise their eyebrows. "Yes, girls, that was the plan. But now? I'm not so sure that's the best of ideas,"

"So what are your orders, sir?" asked Orianna.

"We need information about this...magical society. What they are, who they are, where they are. What they want from the rest of Britain, and how they operate. Everything that we can possibly know. Since you and your sisters have been invited to learn from them, you are in the best position to gather information for us. You will learn everything you can from them,"

Amanda blinked and hissed angrily, "You want my girls to spy on them?"

"Spying is only an offence when you are not invited to do it. You said that they were invited to learn," Adams said, waving her off dismissively. "I'm ordering them to do their best to learn, just as they were invited to,"

"You..."

"Does this mean that you approve of our enrolment, sir?"

"Yes. Very much so. While I don't approve of the fact that you will not be enrolled in the Army Cadet Force as I had planned, this is probably more important," he grumbled half-heartedly. Fixing a hawk-like glare into her own unflinching eyes, he added, "And do not think that you will grow lax on your exercise routine. I expect you to continue with your daily exercises. Five miles a day, rain, hail or shine,"

"Yes, sir,"

"And don't think that you're off the hook, rookie," Adams said, turning to face Aveline. Unlike her calm and composed sister, Aveline let off a small 'eep' and ran behind Orianna for protection. Not that Orianna was having any of it, as she put out an arm and wrestled Aveline around so that she was facing Adams. "Orianna. Make sure that your sisters maintain their daily exercise schedules. Now, I believe that I've seen enough, and heard enough of this magical world. Keep me informed, Flynn. I expect a detailed report from you and your daughters in a year's time. Dismissed!"

As the general made his way out of the home, Amanda breathed out in relief. Her daughters were going to have their wish. Adams actually approved of them going to Hogwarts. Yet a part of her worried about what the General had in store for them. He had always been a little power-hungry, and though he showed none of it in front of them, she was fairly sure that he was planning something. She would have to talk to Orianna about how much she was to report back to Adams – and to Aveline about keeping better control over what she blurts out.

* * *

A/N:

Adams the chauvinistic ass is back with a mission! The girls now have his blessing to go to Hogwarts, and he now has a motive to keep silent about the existence of magic - for the time being. But what motives does he have to allow them to go so easily, instead of forcing them to attend a normal school and force them to complete a cadet training course? Let's see! Until next time, folks!

-ArcturusWolf

Fmvm: Yup, that's very much true, isn't it, about the existence of magic? It's weird how the Statute of Secrecy really only bans the use of wands by underage witches and wizards (through use of tracking charms), while there are so many possible leaks in the information net that the magical world has. Who's to say that a kid won't drop a Chocolate Frog in a back alley? Simple Disillusions and Muggle Repelling Charms don't work on things that aren't exactly alive (like surveillance cameras). Not to mention the very obvious case of the Weasleys talking about Muggles, Platform Nine and Three Quarters loud enough to be heard by Harry on a busy London train platform, with a whole bunch of other passengers around them! If there was one law that was very, very poorly enforced (likely through lack of personnel to enforce it), it would be this one. But for the sake of the story, let's pretend that it stands for now.

As for what Adams has taught the kids, right now, it's just fitness training. His training schedule might be disrupted, but if there's one thing that proves true for every branch of the armed forces, it's that plans never survive the initial contact.

gginsc: Evil sister? There isn't an evil sister here... *shifty eyes* Yes...no evil here...

Dragon Man 180: Harry being abused by his guardians may not be very high-priority on Amanda's list of things to do. After all, she is a cold-hearted no-morals everything-is-permitted scientist (with the exception of a soft spot for her daughters and Lucille). She doesn't even remotely care about her three Squib daughters that are in the control group of the experiment. If it were Harry on his own, I can't see Amanda reacting; but considering that she despises Petunia for trying to spy on her over the fence, there may be some reaction out of petty revenge. The fact that there may be a morally enabling factor to it (rescuing Harry from abuse) would be just an excuse for her to do it.


	5. Platform Nine and Three Quarters

"Orianna, don't you have anything else to change into?" sighed Amanda, noticing the confused stares that people were giving the black-ribboned girl as they stepped onto Platform Ten.

It was one thing to see a young woman wearing camouflage print on a shirt, but it was another to see an eleven-year-old wearing something that really resembled a miniature version of a military uniform. She had insisted on wearing camouflage-pattern slacks and a pale green cotton T-shirt, over which she wore a stiff trench coat, which was also in the same pattern as her slacks. To cap it all off, she even wore a green beret. A Christmas gift from Adams, who the girl seemed to adore for some reason or another.

At least her other girls weren't so willing to adopt Adams' dress style. True, they also insisted on camouflage pants, but at least people weren't staring at them whenever they passed by. Perhaps it was the plain white T-shirts that they wore that made them less obvious. Or perhaps it was simply due to the brightly coloured ribbons they used to tie their hair with that made them impossible to mistake for a member of the army.

"No, mum. I insist," Orianna replied calmly. "You've also asked me that question since we've left the house. It's impossible for me to change when we're out here already,"

"Oui, ma cherie. Per'aps it iz a good idea to let our daughter wear what she likes now. After all, she iz no longer a little baby, no?" Lucille said, giving Amanda's hand a gentle squeeze. Lowering her voice, Lucille then whispered, "We should find zis Platform...what was it? Nine and...Three Quarters? Ze people are staring a bit more than I like. Didn't Professor McGonagall tell us that zere should be a wizard or a witch to help us find it?"

"Yes. But how would we find that wizard or witch?" muttered Amanda, as she scanned the platform for any out-of-place people. It didn't take long before she found her wizard; an odd, short man wearing the most garishly neon-pink shorts, a black T-shirt with a love heart emblazoned on its front, and a lime green suit jacket to top it all off. With a blond beehive hairstyle that would not look out of place on a woman from the 1950s, as well as thick white make-up resembling that of a well-off lady from the Victorian Era, he was the very picture of a fashion disaster.

Despite the glaringly obvious abnormality of the man, everyone about him passed by without even giving him so much as a glance. It was as though the man was completely and utterly invisible to their eyes, but not to hers. Judging by her family's completely bemused expressions on seeing his outfit, however, at the very least they could see him. When they approached, he clapped his hands gleefully and beckoned for them to come closer.

"Bound fer Hogwarts, are ya?" he cackled, "Me name's Saxton, and I'm the doorman of this 'ere platform. Can't say I seen ya before, so ya must be ickle firsties,"

Amanda blinked, taken aback by the man's reaction, only barely managed to mutter a quiet 'yes'. "Excellent! Well then, ya gotta know how this 'ere platform works. Ya see this wall behind me? Well, ya gotta run into it,"

"Running into a wall? Are you insane?" Lucille exclaimed, drawing a few stares from nearby passers-by. She gave them an apologetic look and quietly backed up into the wall that Saxton indicated, pressing a hand against it. "It's solid!"

"A'course it is. Can't have no Muggles accidentally stumblin' into that platform, see. If ya ain't sure that it's there, ya ain't going to go through. Got ta be certain that ya are going to go through, otherwise you ain't gonna go through,"

"That sounds like you require the will to see yourself to go through," Orianna remarked thoughtfully. "A vital component of magic is will, if I understand correctly.

"See, there ya go, lady, yer girl gets it! Now, let's see ya go through the platform gate,"

"This sounds absolutely ridiculous," Amanda muttered, watching as Orianna backed up with her trolley away from the barrier. Moments later, she sprinted straight at the wall – and vanished through the wall.

"Na, ain't so ridiculous, innit now? Go on, get through. Ya can't just loiter 'round 'ere for that long. Muggles start thinkin' something's wrong, see?"

Nodding her thanks, Amanda gingerly reached out and touched the wall where Orianna had just vanished. It felt completely solid to her fingers. But if Orianna could go through without so much as slowing down against the wall, surely she could do so without harm. Before she could think about how to test this herself, Zoe and Aveline streaked past her and into the wall.

"Well, ma cherie," Lucille said, grinning as she grabbed Amanda's hand, "Let's discover something new, shall we?"

"Wait, we should – LUCILLE!" squeaked Amanda in terror as her partner dragged her through the wall.

Through the wall – and out onto the most bizarre train platform that Amanda had ever seen. There was an enormous red train waiting, puffing out billowing clouds of steam from its bright red engine. Numerous children in black robes, chatted animatedly with one another. Some were dragging trunks behind them, while others were lifting their trunks onto the train. Some were still clinging on to their parents, accompanied by younger siblings. What was notable, however, was how the wizarding folk looked so...bizarre. At least those that were trying to pass off as non-magicals by wearing things other than robes.

"Mon dieu. It seems that fashion sense is well and truly dead among ze wizards. Quelle horreur!" muttered Lucille in disgust as she spotted a fat witch in a lurid pink one-piece on the far end of the platform.

"Well, at least we will know that the wizards and witches won't object to our daughters' nearly as questionable fashion sense," replied Amanda dryly. She checked her watch; it was nearly eleven. Which meant that the Hogwarts Express would be due to leave any minute. "Girls, it's almost time. You did make sure that you packed everything, correct?"

Zoe and Aveline looked at each other uncertainly. "Uh..." they muttered, desperately trying to recall if they did. Deciding to be safe, they then looked with askance at their third sister, who palmed her face and grumbled out a disapproving 'yes'.

"Excellent. If anything else, I'm certain that Orianna will look after you two. Please try to remember things yourself. Orianna won't always be there to remind you of everything you need to do," sighed Amanda, rolling her eyes. "Now, girls, I'd like to say a few things to you all. Orianna, I know that you enjoy working far more than your sisters do. You are capable in your own right, but do try to make some friends. Relax a little, and enjoy yourself for once,"

Orianna remained silent, but gave the faintest of nods in response.

"Zoe, you were always the one with the most...wild ideas," continued Amanda, grimacing when the girl in question gave a crooked smirk in acknowledgement, "Do try to cut back on some of your rough-housing, and your pranks. I don't want to hear anything about you breaking a leg or an arm,"

"Not your arm. Or your leg," added Lucille quickly.

"Yes. The other students, that is. And Aveline...if Orianna has trouble finding friends, you help her make some. That's an order,"

"I am very much capable of making friends, thank you, mum," huffed Orianna indignantly, "Why is it that you always assume that I am incapable of doing so?"

Her response elicited loud snorts of amusement from both of her sisters. "Sorry, Ori, but you...uh...kinda scared everyone else!" choked out Aveline, who struggled to keep her composure. "Including that black-haired boy that lives next door. What was his name again...? You know, the one that's always cutting the hedges or the lawn whenever we go on a run?"

"Harry,"

"Yep, that's him. Every time you so much as look at him, the poor boy jumps and runs away, like as if you lit a fire under him!"

"Hmph. It's not my problem that he's so jumpy," Orianna sniffed, turning up her nose and crossing her arms. "Why do you care so much about him, anyway?"

As if on cue, Zoe started to giggle and prance about Aveline, with an impish grin plastered on her face. "Harry and Aveline, sitting in a tree~" she chanted in a sing-song voice, "K-I-S-S-"

"No! I do not!" screeched Aveline, her face turning a bright crimson.

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Alright, you can stop tormenting your sister now, Zoe," Amanda quickly spoke before Zoe's teasing could get out of hand. She dearly hoped that Orianna would prove capable of keeping the other two in line. Or at least just Zoe, considering that Aveline was usually quite well-behaved. Most of the time, anyway. "We're rather late as it is. You three should get your trunks onto the train,"

One by one, Amanda gave each of her girls a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, before sending them off onto the rearmost carriage. Five minutes later, the great steam engine blew a whistle; the students that were still on the platform hurriedly scurried into the nearest carriages, while their parents waved their goodbyes. Her own three girls were peeking out of their carriage's windows, waving to her and Lucille until their carriage finally disappeared from sight.

"I still can't help but worry about them, Lucille," sighed Amanda, leaning into her partner. "It's the first time they'll be away from home for longer than a weekend,"

"They will be, ma cherie," Lucille replied, planting a soft kiss on Amanda's cheek. "I am sure of it,"

* * *

Hermione was having a rather brilliant day. For the last month, she had been bouncing up and down in excitement over the possibility of learning how to use magic. Her parents had been rather supportive of the idea, seeing as Hermione was far more interested in it than she was in any of the other subjects that she had previously learned in primary school. After they had acquired the prescribed textbooks and materials for her first year in Hogwarts, she had taken to reading through every single one of them in detail. Yes, even the rather thick _A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. It helped, of course, that the book was illustrated in moving colour photographs, but that was beside the point. She wanted to know _everything_ that there was to know, and thus she had committed to memory as much as she could of all the textbooks she had in her trunk.

And now, on the first day of September, she was finally onboard the magical train bound for Hogwarts. Definitely a magical journey, considering the amazing things that she had seen so far. Chess pieces that walked and talked, jumping chocolate frogs, exploding playing cards and self-expanding rooms were only some of the miraculous things that she saw so far. The more that she heard about magic, the more that she wanted to see it being performed in person.

That, however, was still quite some time off. For now, she needed to find a place to sit for the day-long train ride to Hogwarts. Opening a train compartment door, she came face-to-face with several older students. All of whom had shiny silver 'P's pinned to their robes.

"Sorry, this is the prefects' carriage," one of them said, standing up and walking towards her. "Students' carriages are towards the back,"

Hermione nodded her acceptance and walked towards the rear of the carriage. Her trunk that she was dragging around was quite heavy, and by the time that she had gone through six different train carriages with no students that would let her into their compartment, her arms felt as though they were jelly. Dearly hoping that she would finally find a compartment that actually had space in it, she pushed the door on the last one open.

Or rather, tried to. Grunting and heaving, she strained against the door. Maybe wizards and witches didn't bother to oil up the doors?

"Hey, sis, did you hear something?" a voice called out from inside.

"Yep. Sounded like someone trying to push against the door,"

"Let's check it out. Maybe someone's trying to get in?"

The door then slid open. Perhaps with slightly more force than necessary, as the door crashed loudly against its frame and shook the entire carriage. Hermione raised an eyebrow as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing inside. There were three girls in the compartment, all of them wearing what could only be described as not-quite military uniforms. Each of them were wearing camouflage-print slacks and thick leather boots. Two were wearing plain green T-shirts, while the other wore something that strongly resembled a navy officer's coat that she had seen before on television. In fact, if it were not for the differently-coloured silk ribbons in their hair, Hermione would have thought that these girls were bound for a military camp rather than Hogwarts.

"Uh...hi?" the one that opened the door said to Hermione, waving her hand in front of Hermione's face. Hermione jumped backwards and tripped on her own trunks with a yelp. If it were not for the iron-fisted grip and quick reactions of the girl in front of her, she would have fallen over her trunk and onto the floor. "Eep! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! You blanked out for almost a minute there. Are you alright?" the girl squeaked, bowing her head apologetically.

"That's okay – and thanks for asking, I'm alright," Hermione replied, rubbing her wrist where the green-ribboned girl had caught her. Though she was quite a bit taller than Hermione, someone of slender build shouldn't have been able to grip her that hard. "Is there room in this compartment?"

"There is always room in every compartment," the one wearing a trench coat said in a matter-of-fact tone as she continued to read the book in front of her. "There are enchantments on the train to make each compartment resize itself to take as many students as needed,"

"But the older students said that their compartments were full,"

"They were not telling the truth. There is always room in every compartment. If you want to sit with us, I have no objections,"

That last statement seemed to be given as an order, as the other two girls nodded without question. Triplets, Hermione corrected herself, noticing that all of them had the exact same heart-shaped faces, emerald-green eyes and light coppery hair. If not for their ribbons, it would be extremely hard for anyone to tell them apart. "Thanks. I would like that,"

Hermione tried to pick up her trunk again. Straining and straining, and yet not being able to lift the trunk even an inch off the ground, much to her embarrassment. "Aveline, get the trunk for her. Close the door behind you,"

"Yup! On it, sis!" the green-ribboned one – Aveline – chirped brightly, picking up Hermione's trunk with one hand and easily hefting it into the middle of the compartment. Right before her eyes, the seats lengthened and the wall near the window shifted a little further back without so much as a creak. Where there was too little space for one more person to sit down beside Aveline, there was now ample space for a person and perhaps even a trunk.

"Hmm...a swish and a flick...channelling the magic...while thinking about the desired effect?" murmured the black-ribboned girl that was reading the book.

"Oh, are you practicing magic?" Hermione asked earnestly, "I haven't had the chance to practice magic at all, but I've read our textbooks and learned them by heart. I just hope that's going to be enough when we finally get to Hogwarts,"

"Very nice," replied the girl simply, leafing over another page. She lifted her hand and made a few motions, as though holding a wand. "Hm. This looks simple enough..."

"Sorry about Orianna ignoring you. She's always like that," apologised Aveline. "We should introduce each other! I'm Aveline, by the way. This naughty little pest over there is Zoe-" she pointed to the red-ribboned sister, who gave Hermione a mischievous smirk and a wink, "-and the serious one is Orianna. What's your name?"

"I'm Hermione. Have either of you two learned your spells yet? Or practiced them at home?"

"I've read some of it, but none of us can practice at home. Mister Ollivander said that we weren't allowed to use magic in non-magical places because of...what was it again?"

"The magical trace, and the Statute of Secrecy," replied Orianna and Hermione simultaneously, which caused Orianna to finally look up from her book and glance at Hermione – and then back down at her book.

"Thanks, Ori. Yeah, that thing. Apparently we'd be in really big trouble if we tried to do so much as make a few sparks with our wands,"

Zoe smirked impishly before adding, "Doesn't mean that we can't do it _now_ , does it? This train is a magical place, after all. Come on, Ori, show us what you've learned. You've had your nose in that book for the last week or so. You know something that we don't, right?"

As an answer, Orianna set down her book and reached into her trench coat. She pulled out her wand – a dark and sleek wand that was about as long as Hermione's forearm – and set it down in front of her. Brows furrowing in concentration, she picked it up and gave it an experimental flick, causing sparks of dark purple to burst out of its tip. "Wingardium Leviosa!" she incanted, giving it a small swish and a flick. The book shook and shivered, and after a few seconds, a page lifted up and held itself upright.

"Hmm. That was not supposed to happen," Orianna murmured, grimacing. "I wonder what went wrong?"

"Oooh, let me try!" Aveline said, pulling out her own wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Unlike Orianna's attempt, however, the book stayed completely still. "Wingardium leviosa?" Aveline repeated, a little less certainly. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The book remained at rest on the table.

"Aww. It didn't work. I was pretty sure I said it right,"

"Were you imagining the book to be floating up, Ivy?" Zoe said, taking out her own wand. With a theatrical flourish and an exaggerated swish and flick, she shouted out, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

And the book immediately shot into the air and smashed against the ceiling with a loud smack, much to Zoe's delight. Orianna's eyes twitched in annoyance with how roughly her textbook had just been treated; Aveline, however, looked completely awed with the display of somewhat uncontrolled magic. "Zoe," Orianna said in a deadly calm tone, catching the book as it fell limply from the ceiling. The page that had been pointing up was well and truly crumpled."That. Was my book,"

"Oops. I'm sorry, Ori," Zoe giggled.

"You are clearly _not_ sorry," grumbled Orianna. She straightened out the crumpled page as best she could and continued to read. "Now leave me be. I want to know what else I should be able to do by the end of this year,"

"Sorry about that," Aveline said sheepishly to Hermione. "Zoe likes to play pranks on everyone,"

"Especially Ori. Don't worry, Ori, we still love you," the girl in question said, throwing an arm over her sister's shoulder and nuzzling exaggeratedly into her neck. Much to the growing irritation of Orianna, who struggled free and pushed her sister away with a growl. "Oh, you're no fun, Ori. You need to lighten up once in a while,"

Noticing the way that Orianna was glaring daggers at her sister, Aveline coughed to get their attention. "So uh...have you girls thought about which house you'll be in? They all sounded so interesting. I don't know if I'm smart enough for Ravenclaw, and I really don't feel like pushing everyone else away if I go into Slytherin. Hufflepuff sounds pretty good, though. They look after everyone else in it,"

"Hmm. I overheard some of the boys in the other carriages say that Hufflepuff will take anyone that doesn't fit into any of the other houses," Hermione commented, "I've been asking around about what the houses are like, and I hope that I'm in Gryffindor. It sounds by far the best; Dumbledore himself was supposedly in it. Though I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad,"

Zoe looked at Hermione strangely and burst into laughter. "You? A Gryffindor?" she chortled, "I would've thought you would be more a Ravenclaw, Hermione. The way you talk about spells like you already memorised all the textbooks makes me think that you're a second Ori,"

"And what do you intend to suggest by that?" huffed Orianna, slamming her book closed.

"Nothing. Ab-so-lutely nothing!" Zoe said airily, flashing everyone a cheeky smile. "Anyway, my turn! I would be an absolutely terrible Hufflepuff. I can't resist pranking people when I can get away with it. And I don't have the patience to read books like Ori does,"

"I suppose that makes you a Gryffindor, then. Headstrong, impulsive, and utterly reckless," muttered Orianna.

"What about you, Orianna?"

The girl in question didn't even have to think about her answer. "Ravenclaw," she said simply.

"Figures. My bookworm sister goes into Ravenclaw," said Zoe, who promptly squeaked in terror as Orianna seized her ear and pinched. Hard. "Owww! Okay! Okay! I'm sorry! I mean my most delightful, beautiful, patient and diligent sister is going into Ravenclaw!"

"Better," Orianna remarked, releasing Zoe's ear with a crooked smirk. "Regardless of whichever house we all get into, I expect you girls to be up by five in the morning,"

"Aww, siiiiis!"

"Ori, come on! Do we really need to?"

"Do you want me to tell Uncle Adams when we come back?" she snapped, tapping her wand on the table in warning. Both Aveline and Zoe shrank back into their seats, while Hermione looked completely befuddled. "I thought so,"

"Five in the morning? What goes on at that time?" Hermione asked Orianna, wondering what exactly could the girls be up to that early.

"A daily routine exercise. To maintain our health. You are welcome to join us if you would like,"

Somehow, the way that Zoe and Aveline were frantically shaking their heads made her even more curious. She had seen how Aveline had effortlessly lifted up her trunk and put it into the middle of the compartment. The trunk weighed almost forty pounds; a weight that was rather difficult for her to drag around, even with wheels on the bottom of her trunk.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. She nodded slowly in agreement. "Well, it is your choice. I will not force you to come along," Orianna said, shrugging. But noticing her sisters' hopeful looks, she glared at them and made them shrink back into their seats. "These two, however, will _not_ be avoiding it. You two know what will happen if you avoid your exercise, yes?"

"Slave driver," muttered both Aveline and Zoe under their breath, but they gave a half-hearted nod back.

"Excellent. Well-" said Orianna slowly, glancing to the compartment door. The sound of a trolley trundling up the train corridor towards them came ever closer. "-I am feeling rather peckish at this time. It is a good time to buy some food for lunch, yes?"

And on that day, Hermione learned what the true meaning of excessive eating was. The triplets, lithe as they were, had somehow managed to devour the contents of the entire snack trolley. Two dozen cauldron cakes, twenty chocolate frogs, nearly fifty pumpkin pasties, a large jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and even six mint humbugs just as a palate cleanser. To top it all off, they even had three jugs of pumpkin juice to wash it all down with. Hermione's own three pumpkin pasties and one cauldron cake seemed like a lean and measured meal in comparison, even when her own belly was straining against her jeans and T-shirt.

"Ah, that hit the spot. I was starving," sighed Aveline appreciatively. She slumped back in her seat and closed her eyes, slowly nodding off to sleep. Zoe had already fallen asleep, having devoured her food far more quickly than Aveline did. Hermione cast a glance toward Orianna; naturally, the studious girl had started to leaf through the textbooks again, muttering phrases under her breath. Feeling rather bloated herself, Hermione decided that perhaps sleeping wasn't exactly the worst of ideas. There was quite some time until they would arrive at Hogwarts, after all.

* * *

A/N:

And there we have it; the girls are finally on their way to Hogwarts!

Re-reading the first book, it's become clear to me that there are inconsistencies with how the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy is described. Supposedly, Hermione can cast spells in her household - a clearly non-magical household - for practice. She is using a wand purchased from Ollivander's, which means that it has The Trace. Yet when Dobby casts a spell in the second book, and when Harry has to cast a Patronus to defend Dudley later on, the Ministry is somehow immediately able to send out a letter stating that he has broken the Statute by casting magic in a non-magical area. The first case suggests that The Trace works on an area - which contradicts what Hermione says about practicing spells in private, as The Trace would definitely trigger in her house. The second case suggests that The Trace works on a wand and its caster, which invalidates the first case because Dobby casts the levitation spell, but Harry gets caught.

So in this story, I'll make it so that The Trace works on both a location and a personal basis. Casting a spell in a known muggle-only area would draw Ministry attention, but they need to confirm that it was actually cast from a wizard's or witch's wand.

Fmvm: Yup, it's very odd, isn't it. Disillusionment charms only fool living creatures, but somehow the wizards have avoided detection from the rising levels of automated surveillance in the country. Even with subversion of official government channels and media outlets, the wizards would be hard-pressed to keep everything under wraps. People talk, and talking people can't be easily silenced. News always travels where it will.

KyuubiNoPuma: Perhaps later. The girls from the control group are Squibs, thus not Hogwarts students. It's why they were also left out of Phineas' will, as they were considered irrelevant to his ambitions.

Dragon Man 180: Malfoy being a prick is par for the course, isn't it? Hammer throw practice comes to mind...

Next up, The Sorting. Let's see how the girls will deal with being split up!


	6. The Sorting

Hermione and the three Flynn sisters had changed into their black Hogwarts robes only minutes before the train was due to arrive at Hogsmeade Station. The very last of Orianna's books had been repacked into her trunk just as they arrived at the station, along with what sweets still remained from lunchtime. Aveline and Zoe peered out of their window, curious about what Hogwarts looked like.

Not that they could see much. It was rather dark outside, and the train was only lit by little gas lamps that held small balls of blue magical flames. Even the platform outside was lit much the same way, with only the dark shapes of huddled students visible in the darkness. The dense forest that the train had been driving through looked even thicker when it wasn't moving; Aveline swore that she could hear an owl hooting in the distance.

Or perhaps it was just a student's owl, she thought, recalling that there were several students that brought their own pet owls.

"We've arrived, people! Up and outta the carriages! Firsties, Hagrid will take you to Hogwarts through the lake. The rest of you, follow me!" a pompous prefect hollered, banging on each compartment as he passed.

One by one, the compartments slid open. Students started to emerge from their compartments, yet not a single one of them brought their trunks along. "Are they just going to leave their trunks behind?" Aveline asked Hermione.

"According to _Hogwarts: A History_ , students don't need to take their trunks up to the school. The school's house-elves do that for them," Hermione recited off the top of her head.

"Oooh. Okay. So, what are these...house-elves?"

Hermione pursed her lips as she thought about the answer. "I don't know. The book didn't show what they were. Anyway, we really should go. We shouldn't break any rules before we even get there,"

The four girls walked out of the train and out onto the platform. While it was warm and comfortable inside the train, there was a definite freshness in the air. Students huddled together in their groups in an effort to stay warm, pressing themselves as closely as they could without being too awkward. "Well, now I certainly see why the thick winter robes are necessary," said Orianna. Her breath came out as thick puffs of white mist. "It definitely is chilly here. How far north are we?"

"Somewhere in Scotland, if I remember right,"

"Right. Well, that explains much. Speaking of which, where is-"

"Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!" hollered a huge man that was wading through the crowd of students. He towered over everyone else around him; even the older students that squeezed past looked like little infants beside him. On spotting a particularly tall and gangly red-haired boy and his short, black-haired friend, however, he gave a hearty wave and motioned for them to come closer. "You alright there, Harry? C'mon, follow me – any more? Firs' years, over here! Mind your step!"

Following the gigantic man was easier said than done. He led them down a trail to the side of the platform, where the grassy ground was damp with dew and caused students to slip and slide with every step. More than once, someone slipped on an unlit patch of mud and tumbled down with a surprised yelp. And every time someone did so, all three of the Flynn sisters quietly thanked Uncle Adams for giving them the heavy combat boots that they wore everywhere. At least with thick rubber soles, they could actually stand properly on wet ground.

"How are you even—doing this-" grunted Hermione, as Aveline pulled her up for what must have been the tenth time on that trip. "I can't even see!"

"Neither can we. Are we there—oooohhh"

"What?"

"Look. Over there," whispered the red-haired girl, pointing towards something in the distance.

That something was an enormous castle that rose toward the night sky. A spire of black, dotted with numerous lit windows, rising up against the backdrop of a large full moon. It stood upon a jutting cliff that rose above the glassy black lake below, the shores of which the gawking students stood upon. "That's really pretty! Is that Hogwarts?" gushed Zoe, who was bouncing up and down in excitement.

"Right yeh are, firs' years. Everyone here?" the giant – Hagrid, Aveline reminded herself – called out. "Good. There's boats on the shore that we'll be taking to Hogwarts. Go on, then – get on a boat. No more'n four to a boat!"

As the students clambered onto whichever boats they could reach first, Hermione noticed that none of the Flynn sisters were doing so. In fact, the three of them refused to get anywhere _near_ the boats. Even Orianna, the cold, calm and collected one stared at the water in abject fear. "Come on, now. We need to get on the boats!"

"Righty-o. C'mon, girls, get on now. Ain't nothin' gonna bite yeh on these boats," Hagrid said, nudging them closer. Aveline glanced uncertainly at the boat that Hermione was on, but eventually climbed aboard after Hermione held out a hand to help her on. To the surprise of the bookish girl, the boat seemed to nearly sink with her onboard. Indeed, if there was even the slightest of waves on the lake, the boat would have been taking in water. There was scarcely a finger's width between the rim of the boat's hull and the water itself.

That was just between the two of them, Hermione thought, as she looked at the other boats. Even those that had four to a boat were floating just fine, well above the water line.

"Isn't there any other way of getting there? What about the other students?" pleaded Zoe. Orianna had tentatively approached an unoccupied boat and slowly stepped onboard. The boat creaked and groaned, sinking lower and lower into the water – but remained afloat.

"Ain't bin a firs' year that didn't want ter ride on one of the boats before," Hagrid said curiously. He pointed to the one that Orianna was on. "C'mon. Your sisters are already on. There's space on that one there, see?"

"I would highly suggest against that. This boat doesn't seem as though it would take our weight,"

With the eyes of everyone else on her, Zoe finally gave in. She clambered tentatively onto the boat with Orianna, shuddering as her fingers touched the cold water of the lake. The boat rocked slightly, groaned even more, to the point where Zoe closed her eyes and visibly shuddered. Thankfully, however, the boat still remained afloat with both Zoe and Orianna on it. Once he was satisfied that everyone was finally onboard, Hagrid finally shouted for the boats to move forward. Which they did, on their own accord; magic pulled them forward, closer and closer to the castle.

"Hermione," whined Aveline, shrinking back into her corner of the boat and curling up tightly. "I really, really don't like this,"

"You don't like...boats?"

"I don't like water," she murmured, casting a furtive glance at her sisters on the other boat. Orianna had a death grip on the edges of her boat, which Aveline could see was starting to get little cracks spreading from where she was grabbing them. Zoe was curled up like she was, muttering something feverishly under her breath.

"Why?" asked Hermione.

The red-headed girl flinched as a bit of water splashed over the edge of the boat and onto her robes. "I...I can't swim," she whispered.

"You can't? Why not? It's not hard. Everyone should be able to swim,"

"Not me. Or Zoe. Or Ori. Say, Hermione? Could you...tell me when we're there? I really don't want to look,"

Hermione gave her a strange look, but nodded regardless. "Alright. It shouldn't be too long," she said to the trembling girl. Before long, they passed under a mossy arch that led seemingly under the cliff which the castle stood on, and into a dimly-lit grotto. The smell of damp, musty wood was almost overpowering in the confined space, and as the boats slowly came to a halt by the docks inside, the smell nearly made Aveline gag.

"Come on. You can get off the boat now," Hermione said. She climbed out of the boat first, but before she could help Aveline off the boat, there came a sudden yelp and a loud splash from behind them.

"What's going on back there?" boomed Hagrid. "Comin' through, comin' through—move outta the way, there we go—oh. Oh dear,"

The boat that had Orianna and Zoe onboard had capsized when one of the two tried to climb out of it. While others could float, the two girls sank like rocks to the bottom of the grotto's water. Which was, thankfully, quite shallow. Orianna scowled as she quickly hauled herself onto the docks and shook her robes dry as best she could. Zoe, on the other hand, flailed about in abject panic, much to her sister's great displeasure.

"Fool! Stop thrashing about and stand up! The water is not deep!" barked Orianna at her sister. When she saw that her sister was terrified out of her wits, she seized one of Zoe's arms and yanked her roughly out of the water. "There. Now you're out of that freezing water—Aveline, would you require assistance getting off your boat?"

"Uh—I think I'll be okay...?" Aveline muttered uncertainly. She let Hermione get out of the boat first, and only then did she attempt to very gently climb out of the rocking boat. Thankfully, without the enormous mass of two Flynn girls in one boat, the wooden tub stayed afloat without any issues. "Phew,"

"Yeh two alright?" boomed Hagrid. He took off his gigantic overcoat and offered it to Orianna, who simply waved him off. The same went for her sister, who simply shook herself like a wet dog and straightened up as though nothing had happened. "Well, alright then, if yeh two don't want it, at least you can get dried up firs' when we get to the hall. Everyone else outta the boats without problems?"

A ripple came through the gaggle of students as heads bobbed in response. "Okay. Let's get moving!"

It wasn't long before the students finally made it to the foot of the castle itself. Hagrid lifted a great fist up and knocked three times on the heavy wooden front doors. Not long after, a stern-faced woman in emerald green robes opened them. A familiar sight to Aveline, who promptly gave her a cheerful wave – but one that was not returned.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said. "Two fell into ter water. Yeh might want to have them dried first,"

"Noted. Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here,"

The castle door swung wide open, and Aveline gasped in amazement. The entrance hall of the castle could definitely fit her entire house inside. Or maybe three of them, considering just how far back the sweeping staircase in the back seemed. In fact, so high was the ceiling that she could scarcely make out the wooden rafters that held up the stonework above.

Nervously, the first years followed Professor McGonagall inside the hall. There was a steady drone of excited voices coming in from the room to their right. The rest of the school must have already gotten inside, Aveline thought.

A warm breeze came from her left, and she smiled as she realised that both Zoe and Orianna's clothes have been instantly dried with a wave of Professor McGonagall's wand. The stern professor cleared her throat once before addressing the gathered students.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly. But before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses,"

Professor McGonagall then started to list off the four houses, all of which Aveline had learned of on the train ride to Hogwarts. The house point system, however, was something new that hadn't been explained in books; and judging by the disapproving looks on both her sisters, neither of them particularly cared for it. She doubted that their reasons were the same, but she snickered quietly regardless, as it was incredibly, _incredibly_ rare that either of them agreed on something.

"Shh!" Hermione hissed quietly, "You'll get into trouble-"

"Is something amusing, Miss Flynn?" snapped Professor McGonagall, who had obviously heard her.

"N-no, Professor," Aveline squeaked, trying to school her face straight once more.

"I hardly think that learning about how you would be sorted into your houses would be a laughing matter. Regardless, you should all smarten yourselves up as much as possible for the ceremony. And do try to treat this seriously,"

With that, Professor McGonagall swept off into the room on their right. The students began to chat animatedly with what friends they had made on the train. "What was so funny that you had to laugh in the middle of Professor McGonagall's talk?" demanded Hermione, tugging on Aveline's sleeve.

"No—nothing,"

"People don't start laughing for nothing,"

"Fine! It was Zoe and Orianna," sighed Aveline, "They don't really agree on anything most of the time, but they both didn't look too happy when Professor McGonagall was describing how the house points worked,"

Hermione blinked owlishly. "That was all? Interrupting a teacher just because you found your sisters behaving differently?"

"Yep!"

She shook her head disapprovingly. Whatever she was going to reply with, however, was soon drowned out by screams from students on the other side of the group.

"What-"

"Ghosts!" Hermione gasped, pointing at something behind Aveline. "Look, ghosts!"

And there they were. Silvery, slightly-transparent, and gliding across the room while talking to one another. They hardly paid any attention to the first-years that had were about to be sorted; one of them, a portly monk, was preaching, "Forgive and forget, I say. We ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us _all_ a bad name. And you know, he's not even really a ghost!"

As though noticing the students for the first time, a ghost wearing a wide ruff and tights said, "I say! What are you all doing here?"

"New students!" cried out the Fat Friar, smiling jovially at them all. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

A few nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you all in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know,"

The door leading into the room to their right groaned open once more. "Move along now," Professor McGonagall said sharply, "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start. Form a line, and follow me,"

The students awkwardly shuffled into a line, not quite knowing what was to happen. A red-headed boy was mumbling something about having to wrestle a troll, with his black-haired friend looking rather pale and trembling with fear. "I hope that everything I read would be enough. Oh, I don't know what I would do if I got sent back home because I wasn't good enough," Hermione rattled off. "Do you think I've prepared enough? I really, really hope so,"

"Hermione," answered Aveline, putting her hands on Hermione's shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze, "I'm sure you'll be okay! I mean, you've read through all the books – and if that isn't enough, I'm pretty sure that I'd be kicked out before I'd even get tested. I mean, I haven't really touched my books yet,"

As the students were led into the Great Hall for the first time, Aveline could not help but gasp in delight. She could have hardly imagined such a charming place existed! The room was lit by hundreds of candles floating in mid-air, over four long tables where the older students were already seated. Golden plates and goblets were laid out on fine linen tablecloths on each table, each one matching a house's colours. High above them, if Aveline wasn't mistaken, was a ceiling that resembled a starry night sky. Or was it even a ceiling? The stars looked very much real to her, sparkling brightly against a backdrop of inky black.

"It's enchanted to look like the night sky. I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_ ," Hermione whispered into her ear. Aveline nodded appreciatively, wondering what other wondrous things existed in the school.

At the top of the hall, there was another long table where all the professors were seated. But in front of them was a short stool, with a patched, frayed and thoroughly mangled hat sitting on top of it. In the Flynn household, she was certain that one of her mothers would have thrown it out. Lucille for the reason that the hat was positively hideous; Amanda for the reason that something so dirty could not possibly be sanitary.

Still, nothing could have prepared her for the shock when a particularly wide rip near the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing in a croaky, warbling voice:

 _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me._

 _You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all._

 _There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be._

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;_

 _You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true  
And unafraid of toil;_

 _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;_

 _Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends._

 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

The whole hall burst into applause as it finished its song. With a little dip of its tip, the Hat bowed to the students and fell still again. Hermione looked rather crestfallen, while the red-haired boy from earlier looked rather pleased that he did not have to wrestle a troll – whatever a troll was. Aveline didn't get much more time to see everyone else's reactions, though, as Professor McGonagall began to call out names and helping students put on the Hat.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A moment's pause after the blonde girl with pigtails had put on the hat, and the hat shouted aloud, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the yellow-and-black table.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

On and on the Sorting went, until eventually the list got to a certain Justin Finch-Fletchley that went to Hufflepuff. The black-and-yellow table was getting quite full at this point, though Aveline swore that she saw the tables and benches get a little longer every time someone sat down. Seamus Finnigan, a sandy-haired boy that couldn't stop fidgeting, took nearly a whole minute before the hat roared out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Flynn, Aveline!"

Aveline's throat went a little dry as she realised it was her time to get sorted. She cast a glance back at her sisters, and then at Hermione; Hermione gave her a reassuring nod, while Zoe gave her a double thumbs-up. She made her way to the stool and sat down on the stool carefully, hoping that the rickety wooden thing didn't break. Which, fortunately, seemed to hold together for the time being, despite the rather worrying groans and creaks it gave off.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here," a curious voice spoke in her head. "You're an interesting one, aren't you? A girl with two mothers, and...oh. Well, that's certainly new. Muggles have really come far, haven't they?"

"Are you...the hat?" she whispered under her breath.

"Well spotted. Perhaps you have enough presence of mind to be in Ravenclaw! No, you don't seem to be too happy to have to be reading books, even if you have inherited your mother's keen mind. Brave enough to stand for what's right, I see, pushing away young Harry's bullies like that. But what's this? Loyalty to your friends and sisters, standing by them no matter what happens. That's true Hufflepuff loyalty right there,"

"Not Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor?"

"No, not at all. That loyalty is definitely a trait appreciated in Helga's house. Go on, then, off to your house – HUFFLEPUFF!"

The last word was roared out by the hat, and Aveline stood up and walked nervously to the Hufflepuff table. Susan and Hannah scooted across to make room for her, and she gratefully took the spot between the two.

"Flynn, Orianna!"

"Wow, she really looks a lot like you," gasped Susan.

"Except she's scary. I'm not. I hope?" quipped Aveline, causing both Susan and Hannah to giggle.

The hat, almost as soon as it touched Orianna's head, scowled quite deeply. Several varying emotions flashed across its 'face'; fear, anger, surprise, and then amusement. And eventually, the hat settled on a pensive look, but remained silent. One minute. Two minutes. Eventually, a low undercurrent of whispers began to buzz in the hall when the hat still failed to say anything for a third minute. "Wow. Will this be a Hatstall?" she heard one of the older students say.

After four minutes, however, the hat finally announced, "Well, I'll be...there really isn't anywhere else for you but SLYTHERIN!"

One could almost hear a pin drop in the silence of the hall. Unlike when the other houses received students that were sorted, there was no cheering or clapping when Orianna set down the hat and calmly walked to the green-and-silver table. Instead, there were looks of askance – and in one of the older Slytherins' eyes, Aveline was almost certain that was _disgust_ that was written all over his face. Not a single student made way for her at the table. Ignoring their looks, Orianna carried herself with grace and poise all the way to the end of the Slytherin table, where she sat herself down all alone.

"Poor Ori," murmured Aveline.

"Flynn, Zoe!"

Zoe wore a wide, mischievous smirk on her face as she half-skipped up to the hat. Scarcely had the hat touched her head before it shouted out "GRYFFINDOR!". The house of red and gold erupted in cheers and clapping, welcoming Zoe among their own. Particularly welcoming were a pair of red-headed twins who motioned for Zoe to sit between them; as soon as her rear touched the bench, a loud fart came from her direction, as well as what looked like a thick cloud of noxious green smoke erupting from her backside. One that definitely did not smell like roses, if the crinkled and pinched noses around them were any indication.

She glanced once either side of her – at the chortling twins – and burst into laughter herself, giving each of them a bone-shattering high-five that caused both of them to flinch and clutch at their wrists while whimpering in pain. With a smug smile, she sat herself down and crossed one leg over another.

"It hasn't even been that long and Zoe's already made herself two very good friends already. I can so see it," mused Aveline with a grin.

Professor McGonagall raised her wand and let off a couple of thunderclaps from it to silence the hall. "Five points from Gryffindor, Mister Weasley! And you too as well, Mister Weasley!"

"But you can't dock points off us yet, Professor! The term hasn't even started yet!" one of the twins called out with a wide smirk on his face. Professor McGonagall faltered before gritting her teeth, conceding that they were right.

"Fine. At least keep out of trouble for the rest of the night, or your mother _will_ hear about this. Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione went to Gryffindor, much to Aveline's surprise. She would have thought the bookish girl would go to Ravenclaw, where supposedly the smarter students went. A regal-looking blonde with the most stunning acid-green eyes that Aveline had ever seen, Daphne Greengrass, was sent to Slytherin. After her, the boy that moaned about his toad all boat trip, Neville Longbottom, went to Gryffindor.

And not long after him, a blond boy with an unpleasantly cock-sure grin on his face that came up to be sorted. One Draco Malfoy went to Slytherin before the hat even touched his head; and unlike Orianna, the other students actually made room for him.

The strangest thing, though, was when a certain "Potter, Harry!" was called up by Professor McGonagall. Low whispers broke out all over the hall. "Potter, did she say?" " _The_ Harry Potter?"

As he finally sat down to be sorted, almost all the students in the hall were craning their necks to take a look at him. Aveline was sure that she had seen him somewhere. That messy raven hair, that scrawny, small build – where had she seen him before? And then it clicked.

That was the same Harry Potter that lived in the house next door. Number Four, Privet Drive.

The very same one that always trims the hedges, mows the lawn, washes the car, cleans the windows – and if what he said was true, cooks for the Dursleys as well.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Right, she thought to herself, frowning. Someone that got pushed over by his cousin and his cousin's friends – and didn't even dare resist – got into Gryffindor. Weren't they supposed to be the house of the brave, not the hardworking? How did he get in? And what about Orianna, who seemed so insistent on the train that she needed to be in Ravenclaw? How did she end up in Slytherin, where every single one of the students seemed to decide that she was merely a hole in the universe to be ignored?

Something was really, really wrong. And Aveline didn't know if it could be fixed with just hugs and kind words, this time.

* * *

A/N:

Aaaaand the girls are sorted!

NecroJake: Glad to hear you're enjoying it. As for romance, I'm not ruling it out!


	7. House of the Ninth Circle

Orianna sat at the end of the Slytherin table for the Sorting Feast, calmly drinking the cup of self-refilling pumpkin juice in front of her. She had finished the three steaks and two plates of mashed potatoes that was hers, along with an entire treacle tart that appeared after she had finished the main course. Without anyone else in Slytherin willing to sit next to her for the duration of the feast, she had finished long before anyone else had even started on their desserts.

Which was just fine with Orianna. 'If they will not sit with me, they are not worth knowing', she thought to herself. All the more time at her disposal if she didn't have to contend with their idle prattle. Now if only she had a good book to read, she would not be so unbearably _bored_ by simply sitting there. Scanning the other first years' mannerisms to identify potential problems had gotten quite pointless by the fifth pass of the entire hall. It didn't take more than a quick glance to see the distrustful looks being shown to house Slytherin by virtually all of the other older students.

And it certainly didn't take long to see just how distasteful the others in her own house found her. For what reason, however, she needed to find out. Her mother had insistently drilled the idea of every symptom having an underlying cause in an illness, and surely it was no different in how these people behaved. It would be very troublesome indeed if they remained opposed to her for all seven years of her education.

A soft creak of wood to her left caught her attention. One of the first year students from Slytherin had seated herself next to her. A brunette with lively grey eyes; Tracey Davis, if she recalled correctly. There was the slightest curl of her lips as she extended a hand to Orianna and cleared her throat.

"Greetings. I don't believe that we've been introduced to each other," she spoke, in an overly stiff and obviously rehearsed manner. "My name is Tracey Davis, of the Minor House of Davis. May I know your name?"

Orianna blinked and stared at the offered hand. _That_ was definitely not what she expected. "Hm. I'm honestly not certain how I should respond," she murmured under her breath. Coughing, she looked up to meet Tracey's eyes and shook her hand firmly. So firmly, in fact, that Tracey yelped and rubbed her hand immediately after. Adams always said that a leader should never show weakness – and she would be damned if she started now. "Greetings, Miss Davis. I am Orianna Flynn,"

"Of House...?"

"House? Aren't we all part of house Slytherin?"

Evidently, that was not quite the answer that the other Slytherin girl was looking for. She frowned and shook her head. "Yes, but that wasn't what I meant. I guess I can just stop with the formalities, now that it's obvious that you're actually a Muggleborn,"

"If by that, you mean that I was born to non-magical parents? Indeed I am. Is this going to be a problem?"

Tracey looked left and right. When she was sure that everyone else was too focused on their desserts to pay attention, she leant in and whispered into her ear, "Not with me. My mother is Muggleborn, so I haven't got a problem with other Muggleborns. Well, most of them, anyway,"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'll explain later tonight. Just...others in my— _our—_ house might not be as...welcoming. It'd be best if you don't draw attention for a while,"

With that, the brunette stood up and returned to her previous seat, leaving Orianna behind. She caught a glimpse of Aveline's questioning look from the Hufflepuff table, and replied with a vigorous shake of her head and a warning glare. She didn't need to get worried about something that was likely nothing to worry about.

Later on, after Dumbledore had made the students sing the most absurd and nonsensical school song to have ever existed, the students were ushered down to their dormitories by prefects, Orianna discovered just how dismal the Slytherins' house areas were. The tunnels to the dungeons were dark, damp and somewhat cold, and water dripped down onto the mouldy, musty and threadbare carpets that covered the slippery cobblestone floor. The torches bound to the walls held only flickering, wavering flames that seemed as though the slightest breeze would snuff them out.

"This is worse than mother's laboratory," she grumbled to herself, eyes twitching after she had to pull a spiderweb out of her hair for the sixth time on their trip.

At least it wasn't that much further. Right in front of a particularly large puddle of water sat a bare stretch of stone wall, where the prefect, Gemma Farley, made them stop. "Now," she ordered imperiously, "I do expect that you all remember where this is. How many turns to take, how far to walk, and how many torches down this tunnel you must walk. This will be the first – and last – time that I will show you where the Slytherin common room is, so _pay attention_. Yes, that includes you, Heir Malfoy!"

The blond boy that had been so well-accepted by the other Slytherins looked up disdainfully at the prefect. A flash of annoyance crept across the prefect's face, which was gone almost as quickly as it came. With perfect calmness, though one that was not matched by the cold fury in her eyes, she continued, "You will need a password to enter the common room. If you forget this, you will sleep outside until someone else that does know the password takes pity on you and lets you in,"

An implied threat to ensure compliance. Orianna nodded in approval; she found herself already liking this prefect's method. "Now, the password is: _Purity_ ,"

When the last syllable left her lips, the wall behind the prefect slowly slid aside to reveal the Slytherin common room. Orianna raised an eyebrow in surprise; unlike the thoroughly unwelcoming tunnels outside, the Slytherin common room was...luxurious. And dare she say it, tastefully decorated. The vaulted marble hall was covered in tapestries of silver and green depicting the Slytherin snake; a plush emerald green carpet ensured that the students never had to step on the freezing stone of the dungeons; and a huge fireplace, almost as large as the one in the great hall, was surrounded by various silver-trimmed couches that held many silken cushions, each embroidered with the silver 'S' of Slytherin.

"All of you will now get inside and I will start explaining the house rules of Slytherin," ordered Farley. When the last person had slipped in, the stone wall closed right behind them. "Good. Take a seat on one of the couches. Which one, I don't care,"

Orianna counted the seats – and quickly realised that there were far fewer couches than there were first-year students. At least, ones that were unoccupied. Aany of them were already occupied by older students. She scrambled for the nearest one, and barely beat the Malfoy boy to one; by the time he turned around to search for another, every single couch had been filled. Seething, he turned around to glare at Orianna.

"That's my seat, Muggleborn. Get off it," the boy declared with a sneer. Two of his cronies – the Dudley-like blocks of fat that flanked him – flexed their muscles threateningly.

"I do not see your name on it, Malfoy," Orianna replied calmly, not at all intimidated by the blond ponce in front of her.

"I guess you want to do this the hard way, don't you? Crabbe, Goyle, why don't we show her how things _really_ work in Slytherin?"

Orianna looked at the prefect questioningly when both of the boys cracked their knuckles and advanced on her. When the prefect simply shrugged, Orianna stood up and cracked her neck, gesturing for them to come at her.

Goyle was the first to throw a punch, which she deftly sidestepped. The boy, more confident in his abilities than was wise, overbalanced and fell face-first into the carpet after a swift swipe of her foot. Next came Crabbe, who seemed to be a little more cautious than Goyle. Perhaps confident that his greater bulk would help him overpower the girl in front of him, he lunged out to tackle her. Orianna merely crouched low to the ground and reared her fist back, before letting loose a punch at the boy's family jewels. Every male in the room winced in sympathy as her fist connected with a resounding _crunch_ , squarely on target.

Needless to say, the boy promptly tumbled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

When the blond-haired boy saw his two brutes laid out on the ground, he stuttered incoherently, slack-jawed. Eventually, when he gathered his wits again. "When my father hears of this-"

"Rule number one of Slytherin," Farley loudly announced over Malfoy, a satisfied smirk on her face as she watched Crabbe whimper in pain and roll around on the carpet while clutching his nethers. "We don't really care what happens in the Slytherin common room. Slytherin rewards those that are cunning and ambitious enough to take what they want, and have the power to back up their words,"

"What about Crabbe and Goyle, shouldn't someone take care of them?" asked a raven-haired, dark-skinned boy who was struggling to help one lump of lard back to his feet.

"Heir Goyle appears to be well enough to stand, and therefore he is well enough to look after himself. Sit him down on the floor and make sure he listens, and listens well. And Crabbe, man up and quit moaning," Farley ordered. "Good. Now, for the rest of you. There are only three rules in Slytherin. The first one you know already. Might makes right in the Slytherin. As long as you do not permanently injure, kill or maim someone else, I – and all of the other prefects of Slytherin – will turn a blind eye to whatever happens to any of you. Any disputes will be resolved here in the common room, and not be taken to the dormitories or elsewhere in the castle. Do you all understand me?"

Silence was her reply. "Hmph. I will assume that your silence is that of understanding. The second is that outwardly, Slytherins must display outward solidarity. You will _not_ argue with another Slytherin in public. You will _not_ raise disputes with another Slytherin in public. If a Slytherin would be threatened by the actions of those of another house, you will assist them as long as you would not _spotted_ breaking any school rules in the process. Fail to adhere to this, and you will not like the consequences. Do you all understand me?"

Another bout of silence. "Very good. I see that I have your rapt attention. Now, the third and final rule of Slytherin. We are well-connected families of good standing within the Wizarding world, bred mostly from well-tested bloodlines of witches and wizards...except for one notable case," Farley spoke, eyeing Orianna with an appraising gaze, "Whether you are of a Most Noble and Ancient House or the lowest of Minor Houses, you will _not_ bring your family into _any_ dispute between yourselves. Those outside our house are fair game only if you are attacked first. You are Slytherins, the embodiment of power, ambition and the machinations that will provide those two things. Learn how to wield power yourself. Nothing is more pathetic than a man or a woman who cannot stand on his or her own right. Do I make myself clear, Heir Malfoy?"

"..."

"Do I make myself clear, Heir Malfoy?" the prefect repeated herself, shooting a white bolt of light from a concealed wand in her sleeve. The bolt of magic burned a hole into the carpet next to his feet, causing him to jump with a frightened yelp.

"Yes,"

"Good. Very good..." Prefect Farley smirked. She shot another white bolt, which whizzed past Malfoy's ear and fizzled against the stone wall to the side of the common room. "Except for the lack of respect, Heir Malfoy. Your father may be powerful in the Wizengamot, but even he understands the traditions of Slytherin and will not interfere in...shall we say, internal affairs. Address your betters with respect, or you will find that my aim will be _much_ better next time. Now, the rest of you; any questions?"

The first years who hadn't been cowed by the display shook their heads weakly. "Excellent. Off to your dormitories, then! The house-elves have taken your trunks from the train and have put them next to your allocated beds. Boys' dormitories are on the left, and the girls' dormitories are on the right. Do not try to enter the wrong dormitories, boys, unless you want to explain to our resident Mediwitch why you have green, stinking pus oozing from your bits,"

The boys visibly shivered at that warning. "I have to admit that I am curious. Has that occurred to anyone before, Prefect Farley?" asked a regal-looking blonde that was sharing a seat with Tracey Davis.

"At least once a year," grinned Farley. "Any other questions? No? Then take a shower, get settled into your dormitories and get to know one another. Bathrooms are down the end of the common room, boys on the left and girls on the right. Curfew is at ten for you first-year students, and midnight for everyone else. Flynn, stay behind. I would like to have a word with you,"

As everyone else scattered and made their way either to the dorms or the bathrooms, Orianna found herself face-to-face with the prefect. Farley wore a grim smile as she put a hand on Orianna's shoulder. "I don't think there's been a Slytherin Muggleborn for...well, ever. I expected to find someone timid and willing to just stay out of the way, given how the others reacted to your Sorting. I suppose you just proved me wrong, Flynn,"

"You do not appear displeased about what happened to either of those boys," remarked Orianna.

She gave a sharp, short bark of laughter. "Oh, indeed I am not. That was exceptionally amusing entertainment. The way that you punched Crabbe in the 'nads and made Goyle eat some carpet? I'm definitely keeping that memory for future laughs, and perhaps for some...objectionable material to hold over their heads. You certainly showed him who has the real power by not backing off from his challenge. Still, watch your back, Flynn. The language of power in the Snakepit isn't the same as that among the lions. Where the lions use strength, the snakes use guile and allies to get their work done,"

Orianna couldn't help but think that there was something that Farley wasn't telling her. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Let's just say that even the strongest python can be brought down by bites of a dozen smaller venomous snakes, and leave it at that. You have a brain, Flynn; use it,"

Orianna nodded, thanking the prefect for her advice. In the corner of her eyes, she could see Malfoy silently fuming at her, yet unable to act on his own. Beside him was Goyle, looking as blank as a statue; on the other side of Goyle was Crabbe, who glared murderously at her while clutching a bag of ice against his badly bruised bits. It was fairly clear what they thought of her – that she was a Muggleborn scum, worth less than the mud beneath the soles of their shoes. Yet she found herself wondering just how many of the others harboured the same ill intentions towards her.

Divide and conquer. Adams' oft-quoted maxim made little sense to Orianna in the past, but now it seemed completely apt. She needed to know who her enemies were, and who her possible allies were. Her sisters, as reliable as they were, couldn't be brought into any intra-Slytherin conflicts – and at the same time, she felt that assisting them in any conflicts between them and Slytherin would only end up with the rest of the Slytherins hexing, cursing and jinxing her out of the common room. No, she needed allies inside the house to secure her position. She also needed to weaken her enemies inside the house, if only to be able to get a good night's sleep in the aptly-named Snakepit.

She breathed a deep sigh and cradled her forehead. This was a problem that needed to be thought about with a hot shower. Or overnight.

Returning from the shower to her dorms, however, she found herself facing a peculiar problem. All of the other girls had gone to sleep already, the curtains around their four-poster beds having gone completely dark to help them sleep. Two, however, were still uncovered. One of them was hers, and the other was- "Miss Davis," she said to the brunette that was sitting on her bed, "You are in my bed,"

"Technically, I wasn't _in_ your bed," she replied playfully, "I was sitting on it. But close enough. Come sit down. And you don't have to call me Miss Davis all the time. Tracey's fine,"

"Very well, Tracey, then you may call me Orianna," Orianna said, sitting down beside Tracey. To her surprise, the bed remained completely stable. "What was it that you wished to speak to me about?"

"Wow, you sound so much like Daphy," she quipped, glancing at one of the covered beds. "She's always soooo prim and proper, like a good young lady of a Noble House that she was brought up to be. Anyway! I'm getting a bit distracted,"

"Yes, yes you are. I doubt that my way of speaking is what you want to speak about," Orianna agreed.

"Pfft. I do want to talk about the way you talk, silly! I wanted to talk to you a little bit about how the Wizarding world works. Considering that you come from a Muggleborn family with little to no knowledge on how our world works, you might find it a bit hard to stop stepping on everyone's toes in Slytherin when you speak to them,"

"And why would that be?"

Tracey shrugged. "Tradition? Pride? Malfoy won't even look at me without turning up his nose, seeing as he comes from the high-and-mighty Ancient And Noble House of Malfoy,"

That sounded terribly like the snooty nobles that she had read about in those fanciful medieval stories that Lucille kept in her bookshelves. "I suppose there would be a hundred ways to insult them without myself knowing, isn't there?"

"Yup. I can teach you how to not do that. I mean, I can see that none of the other first year boys would want to mess with you for now, but if you insult the older ones...well, they might take it quite badly. That was a really good hit on Vince, by the way," Tracey grinned, "I've always wanted to get him back for all the times that he and Malfoy have insulted my mum at the annual Malfoy ball,"

"Thanks, I suppose. But he did leave himself wide open,"

"Psh. Wide open or not, that was a brilliant hit. Anyway, I _was_ going to ask Daphy to help you learn more about Wizarding culture so that you wouldn't make an enemy of everyone in Slytherin before you've even met them. But-" she thumbed over her shoulder at the bed beside Orianna's own, "-Daphy looks like she needs her beauty sleep. I could teach you, but I'd probably get half the finer points wrong anyway,"

Orianna frowned. That was an entire day that she could possibly commit various degrees of offence against others in Slytherin without knowing about it. At the very least, she supposed that she could simply stay as far away from the others as possible. Not that she needed to try very hard to do that, considering that every Slytherin avoided her as though she had the plague.

Well. All except for the one sitting on her bed. Which made her desire to approach her all that much more suspicious. "Tracey," asked Orianna slowly, "Why are you doing this? Why help me?"

The brunette girl simply shrugged and gave her a sly smirk. "I guess it was because I thought you looked like someone that could handle yourself. And I'm happy that I'm not wrong, for once. It's just that – well, it's just that I want to see you fit in with the rest of the house," said Tracey. Seeing that Orianna wasn't entirely convinced, Tracey's face fell and she leaned in to whisper, "Look, Orianna – I'll be honest. I'm a half-blood in Slytherin, and that already makes quite a few people look down on me from the start. My House – my family – isn't considered to be powerful or rich, and you've seen how Malfoy acts against people who he thinks come from 'lesser' families. Aside from my good friend Daphy that I grew up with, I can't count on anyone else to actually stand up for me,"

"So if I understand correctly, you want to use me for protection. Is that correct?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that!" gasped Tracey, scandalised. "I'd sooner die than be like Malfoy. He bought those friends of his with money, you know. What I'm trying to say is – I can't exactly make many more friends in Slytherin thanks to my blood status, and it'd be next to impossible for you to do that. It'd be good for both of us if we stuck together. I and Daphy could teach you how to act around the stuck-up kids of the Noble Houses so that you won't get hexed in the back every few days, and...well...I'd get another...friend,"

The way that she nearly muttered out the last part in shame caused Orianna to feel a little sorry for the girl. In a way, her lack of friends reminded Orianna unpleasantly of herself. It stung quite badly at times, to see Zoe and Aveline run around with their own friends at the local park, while she remained at home to study the books that Adams and her mother gave to her to read. One did get used to it after a while, but sometimes she wondered how it would be to actually have a friend for once.

Her feelings on the matter aside, what Tracey proposed did make logical sense. She needed more information on how the Wizarding world operated to avoid making enemies, while Tracey supposedly needed protection. It was an acceptable exchange.

Orianna stood up and gingerly wrapped her arms around the brunette. "Very well, Tracey. If a friend is what you are after...you have been kinder than any of the other Slytherins thus far. I accept,"

Slowly, uncertainly, Tracey returned the hug. "Thanks, Ori! You don't know how much this means to me," she choked out. A genuine, radiant smile now adorned her face. "I swear, I'll make it up to you,"

Not sure how to respond to that, Orianna simply nodded and let the girl go. Only after the brunette had skipped her way back to her bed and slinked back under the covers did Orianna realise something truly dreadful.

Tracey had called her Ori.

She groaned and slumped into her bed. Tracey would have to be corrected eventually. As she drifted off to sleep, she found her thoughts drifting to what surprises lay in the morning.

"Hopefully no more fistfights," she mumbled into her pillow.

* * *

A/N:

And there we have it; the infamous Snakepit. The Ninth Circle of Hell, right here in Hogwarts! Beware treachery in its silver-lined halls, for the nest of snakes and vipers offers no quarter to those of pure intentions! Doubly so if one was not born with a silver magical spoon in one's mouth.

I've read of renditions of house Slytherin being a place where Slytherins stick to each other no matter what, and I found them quite...off. That's totally a Hufflepuff thing to do. If Slytherins were really the house of the ambitious, loyalty would be one of the least important things on their members' minds. Power, and its acquisition, would be everything. Literally. Those too weak to defend themselves or to properly pursue their ambitions would be nothing more than a stepping stone for the strong. It should be a place with vicious competition between its members, friendly or otherwise. Particularly when one considers the heritage of virtually all its members, which are of supposedly 'noble' wizarding stock with huge preconceptions of superiority over lessers.

gginsc: Ori's survival in Slytherin remains to be seen. Power is one thing, but if alliances come into play...well...yeah, that's not going to go well. The weight of the girls will be explained in a later chapter. As with how Hermione would cope with the competition? My perception of Hermione is someone who doesn't take competition very well. She literally has Slytherin-like ambition ramped up to 11 out of 10 when it comes to academic success, without the underlying vision of what to do with that success.


	8. The Potions Master

"Cheer up, 'Mione, it's not _that_ bad, is it?"

"I feel like my feet are about to fall off," complained Hermione.

"Pfft. Ori usually makes us run a lot more than this. You'll be fine, trust me," snorted Zoe. She wandered over towards the Gryffindor table and plopped herself down in front of an empty plate. Mounds of crisped bacon and well-fried eggs immediately appeared on the plates along the middle of the table, along with numerous pieces of kippers and buttery toast. "Come on, let's get you some food first. Can't go to our first classes on an empty stomach,"

Hermione nodded, sitting down beside her and rubbing her sore legs. A hot shower did help, as Zoe suggested, but not as much as she would have liked. Still, there was definitely something to running around the whole castle at least once in the morning. While other students were still yawning with hooded eyes as they ambled into the Great Hall, Hermione's mind felt rather clear and refreshed.

Which was certainly more than could be said for a certain famous Boy-Who-Lived that sat a couple of spaces down from her with his eyes still nearly closed. Or his lanky red-headed friend of his, who seemed to be missing with his fork even as he tried to shovel bacon into his mouth – and likely spilled as much food onto the table as he got into himself. Given what Hermione had seen of him, it was rather difficult to reconcile the image of a supposedly hero who defeated a Dark Lord, with the thoroughly unassuming and timid boy that was seated at the Gryffindor table.

"What do we have first today, 'Mione?" Zoe asked, not caring that people were staring at the rather generous helping that she was dumping onto her plate.

"Double Potions, Gryffindor and Slytherin. I hope you've read your textbook. I heard from the older girls that Professor Snape isn't a very forgiving man when it comes to teaching,"

"Relax, 'Mione. How much could they possibly ask us on the first class, anyway?"

Which, to Hermione, was _definitely_ the wrong thing to say. "Plenty!" she exclaimed. "What if he asks about what ingredients go into which potion? What if he asks about how a certain ingredient needs to be prepared? What if-"

"Okay, 'Mione, fine! I'll read the book after breakfast, just before class," Zoe said quickly. "That should be enough, right?"

"You really should've read earlier," she grumbled back, "But that's definitely more than not being prepared at all,"

* * *

Hermione's words proved prophetic. There were already whispers among the first years about the supposed 'overgrown bat of the dungeons'. That was, to say, their Potions Professor, Severus Snape. Some who had older brothers and sisters in Hogwarts whispered of his terrifying personality – and his legendary contempt for those without talent in his classes. And when the Gryffindor first-years finally arrived in the damp, dark and dank dungeons where the Potions class was held, there was hardly anyone among the Gryffindors that wasn't shifting nervously where they stood.

Zoe included, as she finally had a good look at the dreaded Professor. He was, to say the least, an unpleasant man. His eyes were pools of darkest black, cold and empty. A dismissive sneer greeted every Gryffindor that he looked down upon, even to those who tried to give a friendly wave or nod as a courtesy. Such was the unpleasant aura of fear that the man exuded that when he began to speak at the head of the classroom, it was a barely audible whisper, and yet it could be heard clearly at the very back of the class.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and art of potionmaking," he began to speak. His eyes roved over the class, stopping briefly over the Potter boy and narrowing in barely veiled dislike, before continuing on. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads that I usually have to teach,"

Zoe grinned inwardly. Despite the fearsome demeanour that the man had, she had to admit that he definitely had style. That, in her book, was worth a _lot_ of points. Even Hermione looked as though she was ready to leap out of her seat to show that she wasn't a dunderhead, but Zoe supposed the bookish brunette was likely going to do that in every class anyway.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. Every head in the class turned to the raven-haired boy. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

The blank expression on Harry's face was obvious for all to see. "I don't know, sir," he answered after a few moments of silence.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything," Snape said with a sneer. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione was reaching up so high that she was nearly touching the dungeon's low ceiling. Zoe had half a mind to yank her back down into her seat, but thought better of it after she caught Orianna's cold glare and a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. Harry, on the other hand, looked helplessly around for anyone else that could assist him with the question.

"I don't know, sir," he answered.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming in, eh, Potter? What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't know. I think she does, though. Why don't you try her?"

A few Gryffindors laughed at Harry's comment. "Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter! And put your hand down, Miss Granger," he snapped, his sneer vanishing and replaced by a scowl. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will counteract most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all writing that down?"

"He's got to be joking, right? Isn't this stuff in the books?" Zoe muttered under her breath as she searched her bag for a blank sheet of parchment and a quill.

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors for the rest of the class. For the whole time that they were taking notes on potions ingredients and their preparation, Snape kept throwing snide remarks about their supposed lack of intelligence. By the time that the first hour was over, most of the Gryffindors were trembling behind their cauldrons and desks, fearing the brewing component of their Potions class. Even if it was just a simple Boil-Cure Potion, there was very little chance that any of them could get it right while terrified out of their wits.

"Hmm. Since Potter thinks so highly of you, Miss Granger, you will be working with him today. Mister Weasley, you will work with Mister Finnegan," Snape said, his lips curling into an unpleasant sneer. "Miss Zoe Flynn, do you have sawdust between your ears? Pairs, not groups of any size. And unless you are unable to see clearly, Miss Orianna Flynn already has a partner. You will work with..."

Snape's eyes swept across the room. He smirked unpleasantly when his eyes fell on a golden-haired Slytherin girl that sat alone in the back of the classroom. "Miss Greengrass. Now go,"

Zoe shot a distasteful look at Snape's back before collecting her things. She walked towards the Slytherin girl, who raised a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow as she approached. "Hi," Zoe said, offering a hand for her to shake. "It's Daphne, right? I'm Zoe. Professor Snape said that we'd be working together,"

"Yes, indeed. I do know that, as does the rest of the class. Unfortunately," Daphne said coldly, ignoring the girl's offered hand. "Unless you want both of us to be seen as incompetent, I suggest that we start working on the potion. Immediately,"

With a frown, Zoe nodded. She was certain that she didn't do anything to offend Daphne, yet the blonde seemed to have _something_ against her already. Looking up to the blackboard in front of the class, she picked up a quill and took out a spare bit of parchment from her bag to write down what things they needed for the potion. There were quite a few that she needed to get; if there was one thing that her mother Amanda had drilled into her and all her sisters, it was that she needed to be efficient when handling materials for an experiment.

After all, it would not do to have to run back and forth needlessly while something was being heated over a flame.

"I'll be right back with the ingredients," Zoe said, walking quickly to the storage room at the back of the classroom, pewter bowl and ingredient list in hand.

To say that she was disgusted by the stench of whatever was inside would be an understatement. Where the apothecary in Diagon Alley had all its smelliest ingredients under air vents and was still able to make every passer-by cough and wrinkle their nose, Snape's ingredients storeroom reeked badly enough to make Zoe gag and cough.

"Okay, Zoe, okay. It's only for a few minutes," she gasped, covering her nose with her sleeve. Six snake fangs, two porcupine quills, a bunch of dried nettles, and a single horned slug. "Eww, gross. That's so slimy!"

Taking the bowl of ingredients back to their desk, Zoe found Daphne looking at her strangely. "Is something on my face?" Zoe asked, hoping that she didn't get a bit of slug slime on her face or something.

"No," Daphne replied, her face slipping back to its mask of cold indifference. "Let us begin with making this potion,"

"Okay. Hmm...so it says that we have to crush the snake fangs, weigh and shred the dried nettles, and stew the horned slug. I'll crush the snake fangs, and maybe you can weigh and cut the dried nettles?"

"That seems acceptable. Provided that you are capable of crushing the snake fangs finely,"

Zoe rolled her eyes at that comment, but started on the snake fangs anyway. Meanwhile, Daphne carefully weighed the dried nettles, plucking out bits of scraggly leaves and wilted petals from the flowers. "It doesn't ask for us to do that, does it?" Zoe asked her curiously, glancing at the blackboard just to make sure. "Pretty sure it just says to weigh them out and shred them,"

"Flynn. Why haven't you got your cauldron on the fire already?"

She looked up and flinched when she saw Snape glaring down at her. "Are you such a dunderhead, incapable of following even the simplest of instructions? How can you create a potion when your cauldron isn't even on the fire, or even filled with water?"

"I-"

"Five points from Gryffindor for ineptitude, Miss Flynn. Get some water and bring that cauldron to the boil. At least Miss Greengrass is competent enough to recognise that the dried nettles are to be finely shredded, and is properly discarding unnecessary parts from them. Two points to Slytherin for reading ahead and applying that knowledge, Miss Greengrass,"

Snape swept past Zoe, leaving the red-headed girl seething in fury. She had just been out to collect the potion ingredients! There was no time for her to fill that cauldron with water, or to do anything more than that. Yet Daphne, who did absolutely nothing before she returned with the nettles, received praise and house points? The injustice of it!

Zoe took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. "Sorry. I'll get this filled with water and heated up," she said to Daphne with a small smile. It didn't take long for the cauldron to be filled up with water, though Zoe noted that the leaky taps had dribbled water all over the floor. If her mother had been present, she was certain that a certain greasy-haired professor would be in the middle of a shouting match over laboratory safety at that moment.

Regardless, she dropped the cauldron onto the blue flames that were burning in their firepit, and began to grind down the snake fangs to dust. By the time the cauldron was boiling, the snake fangs had been reduced to a fine white powder. Measuring out four spoonfuls of fang dust carefully and dropping it into the cauldron, Zoe watched with wonder as the potion turned a bright sky blue.

Snape wandered by their table once more and surveyed their potion. "Acceptable work, Miss Greengrass," Snape hummed, "Two points for Slytherin. Remember that you will need to keep it at the correct temperature for thirty seconds,"

Daphne nodded, keeping an eye on the tiny clock on their workbench. Thirty seconds later, Daphne tipped the finely shredded nettles into the potion and waved her wand over the cauldron, just as the textbook described. It was then simply a matter of waiting the required thirty minutes until the colour shifted to an off-white. Depending on cauldron material, of course. She looked over the textbook again and nearly jumped as she realised that they had skipped a step.

"Flynn, what do you think you are doing?" hissed Daphne, as she noticed Zoe fiddling with the fire under their cauldron in a hurry.

"The textbook said it's supposed to be simmering for thirty-five minutes on a pewter cauldron. Our cauldron was way too hot," replied Zoe. "We were supposed to turn down the fire after adding the nettles,"

"Oh. Very well,"

With the potion temperature now stable, the two now had nothing to do. Daphne was already poring over the later chapters in the textbook; Zoe had half a mind to prank her there and then, but recalled that the 'greasy dungeon bat' would likely give her a detention for a whole week if she did something like that. Not to mention that her bossy sister was also in the room, and would probably punish her during their daily exercises too.

That left only the option of reading her textbook. Which wouldn't have been too much of an issue if Hermione, the living, walking and breathing textbook, wasn't spouting off as much information in as little time as possible. Her shrill voice carried over the dull drone of idle chatter from the rest of the class, grating on Zoe's eardrums and making it next to impossible for her to concentrate. Yet despite the noise, somehow Daphne was still able to read her textbook in peace. It was as though the din of the class was no more than the silence of a library's reading room to her.

 _Two can play at this game_ , Zoe thought to herself.

By the end of thirty-five minutes, however, Zoe had to admit defeat. There was simply only so much that someone can wilfully block out from their hearing. She had barely gotten through half of the first chapter, while Daphne had managed to go all the way through the first three chapters, seemingly undisturbed. The blonde girl stood up and checked on their potion, waving her wand over it and tossing in the horned slug.

"The slugs need to stew for ninety seconds," Zoe read from the textbook. Daphne nodded and made a note of the current time on the clock; the white potion shifted to a deep blue, and then to a rich turquoise. The slug released little oily bubbles which floated gently to the surface, popping and hissing as they reached the top of the shimmering liquid.

"Time," Zoe said. The slug had stopped giving off bubbles, and the liquid was an even bluish-green all through. She looked around for her dragonhide gloves to pick up the cauldron with when she noticed that Daphne had something in her hands.

Porcupine quills.

"Daphne, no!" she cried out, grabbing the girl's wrist and yanking it back before she could drop the quills into the potion. Perhaps with a lot more force than required, as the girl slipped on the wet floor and crashed backwards to the ground. The quills, at the very least, clattered to the floor, and not into the potion. Only a few inches from falling into the potion, Zoe noted with relief.

"Miss Flynn. Explain yourself!" snarled Snape, striding over to their workbench. A wave of his wand, and Daphne had been levitated back to her feet; another wave, and her damp and grimy robes were dried and cleaned. "Now!"

"I—Daphne was about to add porcupine quills to the potion, Professor. While it was still on the heat," Zoe explained, maintaining her composure as best she could in front of Snape, "The textbook said to take it off the fire before adding porcupine quills,"

Snape looked as though he had eaten a particularly sour lemon. "And that it does. Would you care to explain _why_?"

"Because it would explode,"

"Correct. Three points to Gryffindor, for understanding the most basic of potionmaking instructions," he said, causing the Gryffindors to gasp in surprise. "And five points from Gryffindor for manhandling one of my students. There are other ways to prevent an accident than throwing a fellow student to the ground, Flynn. Do I make myself clear?"

Zoe was furious. She was about to retort angrily when she felt a hand wrap itself around her wrist and give it a gentle squeeze. Turning around, she noticed that Daphne was staring directly into her eyes with a stern look, and was shaking her head ever so slightly. That was a clear message, and one that Zoe received quite clearly. Arguing back would just give Snape more excuses to take points away from Gryffindor.

"Yes...sir," she slowly said, swallowing whatever outraged words she was about to shout out.

"Good. Make sure this doesn't happen again,"

Fuming, Zoe took the cauldron off the heat and put it on their workbench. She scooped up the two porcupine quills from the ground and dumped them into the potion before waving her wand over the now hissing and roiling liquid. Just as the textbook described, the potion turned a bright cherry red. Taking out three stoppered vials from her bag, she took three doses of the potion; handing one to Daphne, slipping one into her bag, and leaving the last on Snape's table.

"There, Professor. Our completed potion is on your desk," she said coolly.

"We shall see," sneered Snape. He lifted up the potion vial to his eye, shaking it slightly and taking note of the colour and consistency. Placing it carefully back on his table when he was satisfied, he pointed his wand at a barrel of toads beside his desk. "Accio toad," he uttered; a toad shot out of the barrel and into his outstretched hand. "Furnunculus," he incanted.

Gold light shot out of the wand and enveloped the toad. Great warty boils sprouted up all over its skin, causing every student nearby to recoil in disgust. With a swift, practiced movement, Snape unstoppered the vial of potion with his thumb and emptied it all onto the toad. The boils receded and quickly vanished right before their eyes, leaving the toad's skin as it was before.

"Five points to Slytherin for a perfectly brewed Boil-Cure Potion, Miss Greengrass. Excellent work," he said silkily, handing the empty vial to a thunderstruck Zoe.

* * *

Minutes later, Zoe stormed out of the dungeons, furious. Never had she thought that there was a teacher that was so blatantly biased towards the students of his own house, and never had she thought that there was a teacher that would deliberately humiliate students! So enraged was she, that she did not see a puddle on the slanted stone step on the staircase leading up; with a surprised yelp, she fell to the ground, sliding back down towards the dungeons on her front.

"Flynn," she heard Greengrass speak, in that ever-so-calm-and-cultured voice of hers. Taking a deep breath, Zoe pushed herself up and stood tall, brushing as much dust as she could from her robes.

"Daphne," she answered curtly. "What d'you want?"

"Nothing. I simply wanted to say...you did adequately,"

"Adequately," she repeated in disbelief, "Adequately? We put together a perfect Boil-Cure Potion on the first try, with a teacher that wasn't really teaching us anything, and all you can say is that I did _adequately_? Sod off!"

Zoe snarled and stalked off, muttering angrily under her breath, leaving a crestfallen Slytherin girl behind. Had she turned around, she would have noticed that her sister – along with her brunette lab partner – was right behind the blonde Slytherin.

* * *

A/N:

Snape's always a right jerk, no matter what timeline he's in!

chaosrin: Yeah, open season on Muggleborn Slytherin always rubs me the wrong way. There's jockeying for power, and there's lording your power over someone that doesn't have anything. In a house where the main objective is the acquisition of power through any means available, it makes little sense to risk reputation, waste time and effort on bashing a student that has little to no power. As far as treachery and going dark, I doubt there would be any seriously dark things till late GoF or early OOTP.

Dragon Man 180: The question would be, do the older Slytherins even care about the affairs of first-years to do something to Ori? The first-year Slytherins aren't terribly dangerous on their own, as they simply lack the magical discipline and ability to cast anything harmful at this point, and would be more terrified of getting socked in the pocket rocket for a while. However, it'll be a bit of a difficult act to balance for Orianna, as her sisters would be in other houses (therefore making them open targets to Slytherins in public), while Orianna is a Slytherin (must back up Slytherins in public).


	9. Halloween

Daphne was not the most easygoing or forgiving of girls. She knew her place in wizarding society as the heiress of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass was to be a glorified brood mare for some other snooty pureblood of noble birth. To support her husband, or betrothed, in whatever endeavours he may engage in, for good or ill, till death do them part. All in exchange for a hefty bride price to enrich her father's vaults. She could live in the lap of luxury for the rest of her life, at the expense of her would-be husband. Happily just directing the house-elves to look after their manors and estates, while elegantly sipping tea and entertaining favoured guests.

At least, that was what her rather traditionalist parents had drilled into her from a young age. They knew that she would grow to be beautiful, as her mother and grandmother were in the prime of their lives. In fact, the evidence of her superior bloodline grew obvious fairly early. Even now, she had clear porcelain-white skin, a slender, elegant frame, and sheets of rich golden hair that reached down to her shoulders. Only time would tell if she would also develop her ancestors' 'assets', as her mother often said.

Yet for all that she had been taught, all that she knew about her ancestry, all that she remembered of her supposed role in society, she could not help but yearn for more. She didn't want to be simply a rich wizard's trophy, hanging off his arm for all eternity. She didn't want to be simply a housewife that managed her husband's estates while he was away at work. And she certainly didn't want to become _Draco Malfoy's_ plaything when both of them grew up, as her father often suggested.

No. She wanted much more than that. She was smart enough to know what she had, and what she wanted. She wanted freedom. True freedom, to pursue what she wanted, when she wanted, and not at the behest of some spoilt rich man-child that could only claim ownership over her by virtue of her parents' agreement and their wealth.

Alas, she knew that at that point, freedom was but a distant fantasy. While other girls and boys could afford to play games and frolic without a care in the world, she had to think about the future. Specifically, how she could free herself of her father's machinations. How she would have loved to be able to simply laze about, chatting about inconsequential things all day long. Just like her good friend and confidante, Tracey Davis.

Though even that carefree brunette was gathering a bit of foresight, Daphne thought wryly. She approached the odd muggleborn girl of Slytherin, offering her friendship. An action that would acquire her a permanent ally, given the perceptions of others in Slytherin regarding blood purity. And if she may say so, an action that may yet prove extremely useful in the future, given the...physical prowess that the Flynn girl displayed in the common room.

A pity that she had only smashed one of Malfoy's trolls' bollocks, and not the blond ponce's own. Now _that_ would have been a sight that she would pay hundreds of Galleons for. Still, it sent quite an appropriate message to the rest of the first-year Slytherins, and even now, they gave her a wide berth in the common room.

A series of loud footsteps rapidly approaching her gave her the only warning before a brunette missile slammed into her. "Daphy!" she heard Tracey cry out. The tiny brunette had wrapped herself about her in a tight hug.

"Tracey," replied Daphne with a sigh. "How many times must I tell you that this is _not_ an appropriate way to greet someone,"

"Not enough times," grinned the girl impishly. "Come on, we've been waiting for you. You promised, remember?"

And of course she did. Daphne Greengrass was not a person that would easily forget things, whether for or against her. She had promised to help Orianna learn proper wizarding etiquette; an action that would serve to advance her own agenda of acquiring useful allies. She felt Tracey drag her over to a secluded corner of the Slytherin common room, where Orianna was sitting on a long plush couch in front of a pile of spellbooks.

"Miss Greengrass. Please, have a seat," the Slytherin Flynn said. Her emerald green eyes were cold and calculating, as though she was a predator assessing her prey, and there was no hint of amusement on her thin lips. "Before we start, I would like to speak of what had happened after Potions. Specifically, about what was said to my sister,"

"Oh, you aren't mad at Daphy about that, are you, Ori?" Tracey asked.

"No. Not at all, to be honest. Zoe's performance is, as you say, adequate," Orianna said, smiling slightly. "The potion was rather simple, and the completion of a trivial task deserves no more praise than that. Why others found any difficulty in it is beyond me,"

Daphne raised an eyebrow. Here she was, thinking that the Slytherin Flynn would be at least annoyed with how she had spoken to the Gryffindor Flynn. Yet instead of being annoyed, Orianna appeared to be merely slightly amused. "You...are not angry?"

"Angry? Why would _I_ be angry at you?" Orianna said. Her smile had vanished, replaced by a rather serious expression. "I have no reason to be upset with you. However, I must inform you that Zoe is...well, for a lack of a better term, vindictive,"

Now that was news to Daphne. She wouldn't have pinned a Gryffindor to be someone that would look for revenge. "No, not in that way. Let us simply say that...she enjoys her pranks. Deeply so,"

Tracey cracked a grin. "What kind of pranks, Ori?" she asked, plopping down into the couch beside Orianna.

"The kind that will leave you howling in the bathroom while clutching your stomach," replied Orianna with a grimace. "Unpleasant, to say the least. And she holds a grudge for a very, _very_ long time. Trust me when I say that I dreaded seeing milk for a month after I forced her to run for an hour longer than usual. Every drink I had was spiked with laxatives. Worst of all, not one of us could actually prove it was her,"

"Oooh. That's nasty,"

"So," Orianna continued, closing her book and slapping it down on top of the pile before her. "With that in mind, I do suggest that you make peace with Zoe. She is not cruel by any stretch of imagination, but she was rather displeased with your comment regarding her performance. A little praise would go a long way to mending your relationship with her,"

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Well, if what I had said before was not enough to convince you...how about the fact that this week, Professor McGonagall will be teaching us how to perform the Switching Spell? I will let you imagine what she could do with that...and a vial of some of that Purging Potion that I had read about,"

"Alright. You have made your point, Miss Flynn," Daphne said quickly, feeling rather nauseous about the implications of what Orianna had just described. "I will have to admit as well that as far as study partners go, your sister was rather pleasant to work with. I suppose that I will have to apologise to her as soon as possible,"

"She can be quite efficient when she wants to, and yes, a quick apology would be best,"

Daphne nodded in agreement. It was a sound idea – removing any potential problems before they could grow and fester. She would be certain to address the Gryffindor Flynn as soon as she could – preferably before she would find her juice goblets potioned at breakfast, lunch or dinner. It was true that the ring her father gave her to protect against potions would warn her against almost all known magical poisons, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"In any event, I should like to continue on with what I had agreed upon with Tracey. I shall help you in classes as best I am able, while in exchange you will teach me about the expected code of conduct in the magical world," Orianna spoke. It was straight and to the point, unlike the other pureblood students. "That is, if you would accept,"

"I see no problem with it. And please, if we are going to do this, then you may call me Daphne. After all, there is much to learn, and the less formalities we have to abide by, the better,"

"Very well. Then you may call me Orianna,"

Hours flew past as the girls discussed the basic guidelines of acceptable behaviour in the wizarding world. More than once, Daphne realised that Orianna was less than pleased about some of the older rules in formal behaviour. In fact, when she mentioned the fact that betrothals were still present and accepted among the older and more established families, Orianna had declared the practice utterly barbaric.

"I would be inclined to agree with you," Daphne agreed, some distaste creeping into her voice. "But it is what it is, and it is how it has been for the last thousand years, apparently,"

"Change has to start sometime," Orianna muttered, frowning. "But it is getting a bit late. We should be heading back to our dorms to sleep before curfew,"

"Indeed," Daphne said, standing up. Tracey did the same. "On the topic of curfews, I noticed that you were not in your bed in the morning. And I like to think myself as an early riser,"

"Yeah, Ori. Where'd you go, anyway?"

"Physical training,"

"Physical...training? You mean exercise?" asked Tracey.

"That would be one way to put it, yes,"

"Why would you do that? Getting sweaty and worked up like that. We've got magic – we can do anything we want with our wands, Ori!"

She looked Tracey squarely in the eyes. "Sound body, sound mind, Tracey. A good run every morning helps me to think more quickly and be more alert,"

The brunette snorted derisively. "Whatever, Ori. A bit of Pepperup Potion in my morning juice always gets me going pretty quickly. Besides, chasing after gnomes and pixies keeps me in pretty good shape,"

Daphne, however, was lost in thought. Physical exercise, as distasteful as it was for someone of her upbringing, did appear to have its benefits. It didn't slip her notice that Tracey, being of a poorer family without house-elves – therefore forcing her to help with household chores – had far greater endurance in spellcasting than she did. In fact, quite a few of the pureblooded heirs and heiresses had trouble casting even the simplest spells. The wealthier or more powerful their parents, the less capable they were. The Longbottom heir kept igniting his feather at Charms in the afternoon, and the less said about Malfoy and his lackeys the better.

In fact, if it were not for the fact that Daphne had practiced some of the charms at home before coming to Hogwarts, she wasn't too certain that she would have been able to do the levitation charm in class. Even levitating a feather for ten minutes left her quite exhausted. And yet, she watched as the Slytherin Flynn held her own feather above her table for a full five minutes before she was distracted by her sister's feather tickling her nose.

She took a breath. One did not simply discover someone else's secrets by standing back.

"Orianna. I would like to ask you a favour,"

"Hm?"

"What would I need to do for this...physical training?"

* * *

The following morning, Orianna narrowed her eyes as she watched her two Slytherin friends slip on what they deemed acceptable clothing for exercise. Which apparently meant their witches' flying robes; thinner, split-skirted pieces of clothing with as little embroidery and excess cloth floating about. Tracey, at least, had sneakers - likely gifted by her muggleborn parent – and a pair of shorts underneath the robes. At least those could work for some of the lighter exercises that they would be assigned.

Daphne, however, had nothing of the sort. She had fine, shiny leather shoes which looked as though they belonged more at a formal ballroom event than on a field, a thick double-layered flying robe with an equally thick split-skirt underneath.

"Daphne," Orianna said slowly, "Is this what you would call...exercise ready?"

"Of course. I can fly on a broom in these robes. Is that not enough?"

"No," sighed the red-haired girl. She turned to her trunk and searched for a spare pair of cargo pants and a white T-shirt. For once in her life, her tendency to wear through shoes came in handy; there was a spare pair under all her clothes. "Here. I think you are about my size," she said, sliding the clothing over.

The blonde girl turned up her nose at the clothes. "Shorts? Boots? A...short-sleeved tunic? These are boys' clothing!"

Orianna rolled her eyes. A quick glance towards Tracey showed that she wasn't alone in her thoughts about Daphne's rather archaic ways. "Daphy, they're not just boys' clothing. T-shirts are really comfortable. Shorts are too," Tracey said, "Besides, are you really going to be dragging your nice shoes through wet grass and puddles of mud?"

"No, I suppose not," Daphne conceded. She picked up the T-shirt and held it up to check how well it would fit her. "I suppose it will do. Are you sure that this is really necessary, Orianna?"

"Unless you wish to exercise in your underwear, yes," replied Orianna dryly. Daphne blushed a bright crimson in response, while Tracey tried and failed to stifle a hearty guffaw. "Did I say something funny?"

"N-no," choked Tracey, still suppressing a grin. "Not at all! Honest,"

"Right," Orianna said, not quite understanding what Tracey found so amusing. "We should probably get moving. I think my sisters should be already waiting up in the entrance hall. Change your clothes, and I shall meet you there,"

A few minutes later, the three girls emerged into the dungeons and walked towards the entrance hall. Aveline and Zoe were already waiting by the giant hourglasses either side of the entrance doorway, conversing quietly with each other. Beside them was Hermione, who shivered slightly in the morning chill. Her usual bushy hair had been tamed somewhat by rolling it up tightly into a bun, and she had at least packed a pair of jogging shoes and a loose shirt.

"What's Greengrass doing here?" Zoe asked, as the three Slytherins approached. Orianna shot a pointed look at Zoe, which promptly shut her up.

"Daphne. I believe you had something to say to my sister?"

The blonde girl took a deep breath. "Zoe, I am truly sorry for what I said yesterday. Your potion was...well done,"

Silence hung over the group for a brief moment, before Zoe burst into laughter. "You put her up to this, didn't you, Ori?" she giggled. Walking up to Daphne, Zoe threw her arms about the smaller blonde and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. "No harm done. I heard from the Weasley Twins that Snape is a jerk to everyone that isn't in his house, so I guess it was my fault for letting him get to me like that. Buuuut..."

Daphne shifted uneasily on her feet as she watched Zoe pursed her lips and hummed exaggeratedly. "I still haven't _quite_ forgiven you for telling me that my potion was just okay,"

"So you are still going to prank me?"

"Maybe," Zoe said innocently, though her smile said otherwise. "Maybe. We'll see. Anyway! This is Hermione, and you probably know her as That Bookworm of Gryffindor-"

"Hey!" Hermione protested indignantly.

"-and she's joined us for our morning runs. If you two are going to join us as well, you'd better be prepared to keep up. Ori doesn't like it when people slow us down. Isn't that right, 'Mione?"

Hermione shuddered and nodded in response. "I'm still sore all over from yesterday," she groaned.

"Enough talking. It is now five-forty-five in the morning, and we need to be finished by forty-five past six," Orianna barked, slipping on a green beret. She paced about in front of them, glaring as she looked each of them up and down. "We will be running around the castle grounds five times before heading down to our respective common rooms. If you need to have a drink, Aveline is carrying a water barrel. For the first run through, we will move as a group; for the rest of the runs, I expect you all to move as quickly as you can. Any questions? No? Then let us go!"

By the third lap around the castle, Daphne was positively exhausted. Despite the autumn chill, she was sweating as though she had been thrown into an oven and grilled for hours on end. The T-shirt that she had been given clung to her with sweat; though at least she now knew what Orianna had meant by a flying robe not being sufficient for their 'exercise'. Even Tracey had taken off her robe jacket, leaving on only her undershirt and shorts for much of their one-hour run. Between her, Tracey and Hermione, they had managed to empty the small water barrel that Aveline had strapped to her back.

"Right. I think we can stop there for today," Aveline said, eliciting sighs of relief from the other three girls. The four of them flopped down under a tree by the Black Lake, easing the burning sensations on their legs. "Ori and Zoe will probably keep going, but I think that you three need a break. How do you all feel?"

The murderous looks that the other three girls shot her told her enough. "Well – er – it'll get better. Sometime. I promise!" she said quickly, "Anyway, there's something else that I thought about. The barrel's empty at the moment, so it's pretty light – and I know we've all done the Levitation Charm in class, right? Wingardium Leviosa!"

The wooden barrel lifted up a foot above the ground and stayed there. Zoe's face contorted in concentration as she held it there for a minute. Two minutes. Then, by the third minute, the barrel fell to the ground with a thud. "Wow. That was harder than I thought. Anyway, I was thinking. If we can train our bodies by running every morning-" she pointed towards Orianna and Zoe, who were making their sixth lap around the castle, "-then it's probably possible to train our magic too,"

"The idea does have merit," Daphne said slowly, "After all, the higher years do not seem to be struggling with casting basic spells,"

"I've read about it in the _Standard Book of Spells,_ in one of the later chapters. The more you use a spell, the easier it becomes," added Hermione. Comprehension dawned on her as she realised what Aveline was suggesting. "That's actually a really, really good idea, Aveline!"

"That's actually where I got the idea from, Hermione. Anyway...uh, if you girls want to do this, I'm pretty sure we can do this every morning,"

Soon the other three had their wands out, taking turns to lift the barrel. Daphne could hold hers there for a full two minutes, which surprised her considering that she was unable to hold a feather up for longer than half a minute in Charms class. Tracey did much the same as her, though it was Hermione that stunned all of them. Not only did she hold up the barrel with little effort, she had managed to lift it into the lake and back up again, filled with water!

"Well, I am still uncertain whether this...physical exercise...has any advantages. However, I do think that the magical exercise would be of great benefit to us. Now and in the future,"

"Well, if Daphy is coming, I'm not staying behind," Tracey grinned. "I'm in,"

* * *

For the first week of their exercises, Daphne and Tracey raged, cursed and ranted against Orianna. They trudged from class to class with leaden feet, unable to move quickly due to the overwhelming burning sensation in what felt like all their muscles. When Orianna introduced them to the next step of their training – the infernal exercises that she termed 'sit-ups' and 'push-ups'. Daphne came very close indeed to throwing Stinging Hexes at her butt, and Tracey strongly considered planting dungbombs in her boots. It was only the fact that Orianna had stood up to Malfoy when he accosted Daphne in the common room that stopped them from doing so; however, that did not mean their irritation regarding the seemingly pointless exercises grew any less.

Orianna, for her part, simply rolled her eyes and bore their complaints and rants with patience. It was only on closer examination that Daphne discovered the source of the Slytherin Flynn's sudden reserves of patience: a pair of thick cotton wads, stuffed into her ears! A couple of Stinging Hexes to her rear later, and Orianna was jumping about their dorm, dodging a storm of hexes from an irate Daphne. She insisted that these exercises were for their own good, and she would never relent on their intensity. She even went so far as to declare that if they did not feel the pain after their morning routines, they would not see any improvement!

"Today is Halloween, and Orianna has decided to make us run around the Merlin-damned castle six times," Daphne grumbled as she stepped out of the shower. "Utterly ridiculous!"

"No need to tell me twice, Daphy. I'm still feeling it in my thighs," groaned Tracey from the other stall.

"Good. That means you are improving," Orianna muttered while brushing her hair.

"Oh? Pray tell, how _are_ we improving," Daphne snapped angrily, "Every morning, I feel as though a hellhound has chewed on my legs!"

"Ditto for me too, Daphy. And add my arms to that. And stomach too,"

That persistent smirk on Orianna's face still irritated Daphne to no end. It infuriated her even more to see it widen at Tracey's remark, though before Daphne could fling a Stinging Hex at Orianna's behind, Orianna held up both her hands in a gesture of peace. "Please. If you really think that I am training you for the pleasure of seeing you two squirm in discomfort after a session of training, you would be wrong," Orianna spoke. Her voice was deadly serious as she continued. "Think back a month. How far could you run? How fast could you run?"

"Three times around the castle in an hour. What does that have to do with the present?"

"How far did you run this morning?"

"Six...and a half times...in an hour..." Daphne muttered mutinously.

"Six and a half times. You ran twice as far, twice as fast, as you did a month ago. I think that would be a sign of your improvement," said Orianna. She stepped closer to Daphne and poked her in the stomach, causing the heiress to yelp in surprise. "And you're not soft any more, are you?"

Daphne glanced down at herself and ran a hand down her flat stomach. She was not as thickly built as Pansy Parkinson or Millicent Bulstrode. In fact, she was quite slender of build, just as her mother and grandmother were. But now, she felt...strong. Like a tightly coiled spring, taut and ready to burst into action at a moment's notice.

"Damn. She's got us there, Daphy," Tracey called out.

"Yes, I suppose she has," Daphne conceded, biting back a more cutting remark. She hated being proven wrong.

"Truthfully, if it were not for Aveline's insistence, I would not have volunteered to train you for so long," Orianna said, shrugging. "I don't think I've heard either of my sisters complain as much as you two. But I will say that I am getting fairly tired of the Stinging Hexes to my rear, Daphne. They do make sitting down a rather painful experience. If you do not wish to continue on, you are free to sleep in every morning. If you do continue with our training, I expect you to refrain from hexing myself or my sisters,"

Daphne nodded stiffly. She couldn't deny that there _were_ benefits to the training, as harsh as it was. "Fine, you slave-driver," she groused, "I will try not to hex you or your sisters,"

"I suppose that is as much as I could expect from you, isn't it?" sighed Orianna, shaking her head with slight amusement. "In any event, let us talk about something else. Did you know that Malfoy baited the Potter boy into accepting a duel after curfew the other day? In the trophy room on the third floor?"

"Yeah, I heard about that one. Stupid Potter took the bait and nearly got locked out of the Gryffindor Tower," Tracey snorted. "Still don't get how the bookworm got involved in that, but I'm glad that she didn't get into trouble,"

"M-hm. And one would think that after landing into so much trouble, he would attempt to at least avoid getting into any _more_ trouble," Daphne added with a slight grin, "But no, the _heroic_ boy-who-lived just had to go and dive after Longbottom's Remembrall. Did either of you two see Professor McGonagall's expression after she dragged him away for disciplinary action?"

"Like she ate a lemon!"

"Indeed. We should see what happens next, if only for the entertainment. By the way, Orianna, Marcus Flint was asking for you last night. He mentioned something about Quidditch and needing your arm strength,"

"Say no more. He has already spoken to myself in person," Orianna replied, grimacing. "If you must know, he demanded that I fill the position of Slytherin Beater. Apparently, he even had permission from Professor Snape,"

"Wow, did he really?" Tracey gasped. She finally switched off her shower and stepped out, wrapped in a towel. "But first-years aren't allowed to fly on broomsticks yet! That's amazing, Ori! Did you accept?"

Orianna gave Tracey a withering glare. "I told him that once he could find me a broom that won't snap like a twig in the air, I would consider the position," said Orianna exasperatedly, "You do remember what happened on our flying lesson yesterday, do you not?"

"How could I not? That was so hilarious!" giggled Tracey, "How'd you manage to break a broom, fall from the air and get stuck two feet into the ground, anyway?"

"Don't you dare...ugh. Don't remind me again, Tracey,"

* * *

The Potter boy, it seemed, had not been punished for his aerial stunt on their first broomstick flying lesson. He did, however, look rather pleased with himself in the morning. Tracey elbowed Daphne and pointed in the direction of Malfoy, who looked completely thunderstruck by the fact that Potter was still present in Hogwarts. That alone had made breakfast infinitely more pleasant for Daphne.

Other than that, the rest of the day flew past in a blur. None of the other students were focused on much else other than the upcoming Halloween feast in the evening. Even Orianna found herself somewhat intrigued by the idea of her first Halloween in the wizarding world. When she had described to Tracey and Daphne the muggle version of Halloween festivities in the form of candy-seeking children dressing up as various characters, they had found the whole idea completely absurd.

"Trust me. The wizarding version is _much_ better," Tracey firmly said.

"I'll take your word for it, then," Orianna said, pushing open the doors to the Great Hall.

The entire hall was covered in the most amazing Halloween decorations that Orianna had ever seen. Thousands of live bats fluttered from the walls and ceilings, while hundreds more swooped over students' heads like chittering clouds of black. Where candles once floated above the long tables, there were now dozens of pumpkins with magical blue flames burning inside them, casting an eerie light over the entire hall.

Most students were already seated at the tables, helping themselves to the veritable feast that was laid out in front of them. "Who did we agree to sit with again? Was it Zoe, or Ivy?"

"Aveline. She is the one with the green ribbon," Orianna said. Sure enough, there was a red-headed Hufflepuff that was waving at them to get their attention. "Ah. There she is, at the end of the Hufflepuff table,"

"Ori! Daphne! Tracey! Over here!" Aveline called out, waving her hand as high as she could. "Glad you girls could make it. I got some spare spots for us all,"

"Aveline, you do realise that the tables will expand to accommodate as many students as needed, correct?" sighed Orianna. Aveline simply stuck out her tongue in response. "Wonderful. It appears I truly have a mature sister,"

"Loosen up a little, sis," Aveline replied, spooning a healthy serving of mash and dropping a steak onto Orianna's plate. "It's a feast day! But something's still missing here. Have any of you seen Zoe? Or Hermione?"

"I can't say I have," Tracey hummed. She sampled a bit of roast pumpkin before adding, "Or Hermione, really. We don't have classes with Gryffindor today,"

"I hope they're not in trouble. Well—Zoe, I mean. She did get a detention with Professor McGonagall for blowing up a toilet on the second floor the other day,"

"On a dare by one of the Weasley Twins, I take it. Those two can be worse than Peeves sometimes,"

"More like most of the time," Tracey chuckled, "Did you know they put a few dungbombs in their youngest brother's bag on Monday? I wonder how they did that without getting noticed. I'd totally love to do that to Malfoy sometime,"

"Tracey," warned Daphne, "Behave,"

Just as Orianna was about to cut into her steak, the Great Hall's doors burst open again. In it stood Professor Quirrell, their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor; his turban was askew, and he was quivering in abject terror. He clumsily stumbled towards the head table, where he uttered to Professor Dumbledore, "Troll – in the dungeons. Thought you ought to know,"

He then fell to the floor in a dead faint.

The whole hall erupted in panicked uproar. It took several firecrackers exploding from Professor Dumbledore's wand to gain everyone's attention again.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "Lead your houses back to their dormitories, immediately!"

"How does a troll even get into Hogwarts?" hissed Daphne under her breath, "I did not think they could even fit in the entry doors to the castle!"

"Scratch that, how are we even going to get to our dorms? They're in the dungeons, and the troll is in the dungeons!" Tracey said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Orianna spotted Harry and his red-headed friend exchanging a few panicked words. Rather than follow the Gryffindor prefect, they had ducked off with a gaggle of Hufflepuffs. "Potter and his friend have left the hall,"

"What?" Aveline yelped, whipping around. She spotted the end of Harry's robes disappearing around the door. "Oh. Oh no. They shouldn't be doing that, they'd get into so much trouble,"

"You will stay right here, Aveline!" barked Orianna. "I know what you want to do. You have always had some strange soft spot for that boy, even at home. You will _not_ risk yourself to go after him. Do you understand me?"

Aveline stared at Orianna in disbelief. "But we can't just let him get into trouble. He couldn't have gone that far, anyway,"

And before Orianna could say another word, Aveline bolted off after Harry. "Damn it," cursed Orianna. She looked at both her friends and said, "I really do not wish to do this, but Aveline's safety is my responsibility. The two of you should stay here with the prefects,"

Orianna ducked out of the hall as well, using the confusion to her advantage. Several students would have seen her get out of the hall, but with so much noise and chaos from panicked students, it was very unlikely that she would be reported to any teacher. Glancing towards the dungeons, she spotted the hem of Aveline's robes disappear around the corner.

"You are not leaving us behind that easily, Flynn," she heard Daphne say. Whipping around, Orianna noticed that Daphne had her wand out; and so did Tracey.

"You two...why?"

"You might be Ivy's sister, but we're her friends too," Tracey said, "And we need to stick together,"

Orianna let out a deep sigh. "Just...if we do find the troll, get ready to run. I think all of us are probably quick enough to outrun it,"

Daphne and Tracey gave sharp nods in response. "Good. Let us go,"

It didn't take long before they found evidence of something very large – and very destructive – in the dungeons. A gigantic hole had been smashed into the wall not far in from the entryway to the dungeons, from where they could see a veritable trail of destruction. A trail of destruction that seemed to lead up through a winding series of old, forgotten classrooms. "Merlin. That's a lot of broken things," muttered Tracey. "What now?"

A high-pitched scream came from the distance, from beyond the classrooms. "That was Hermione," Orianna growled. "I have no choice but go and find her! If we heard it, then Aveline would have heard the same – and that soft-hearted sister of mine will definitely be there as well! You two should go back to Professor Snape, tell him about this!"

"I-I'll do it. Daphy, are you coming?"

Daphne looked conflicted for a moment. She looked back at Tracey, and then to Orianna. Her expression wavered between resignation and fear. "Go! Get the teachers!" Orianna roared at them. Once the two had disappeared, she sprinted off as fast as she could down the trail of destroyed classrooms.

If it was not just her imagination, the classrooms seemed to be going _up_ the castle. Each one seemed to be slightly higher than the last, until eventually a terrible smell assaulted her nose. It resembled a foul mixture of old, unwashed socks, and a public toilet that hadn't been cleaned for years.

"Help! Someone, help!" she heard Aveline cry out. Orianna dashed towards her voice, noting that the stench grew stronger and stronger. Then, just as she thought things couldn't get any worse, Orianna found herself inside the remains of a girls' toilet, faced with the most foul-smelling and horribly ugly abomination that she had ever seen.

It was twelve feet tall, with mottled, leathery skin the colour of granite. Its great lumpy body was like a knobbly boulder with a tiny bald head perched on top like a coconut. Its short, stubby legs, thick as tree trunks, crushed the tiled floor with every step. Truth be told, Orianna felt her dinner backing up just being _near_ the thing, owing to its incredible stench. Worse yet, it carried a huge wooden club, which dragged along behind it because its arms were too long.

It gave a stupid grunt and took another step forward. A cloud outside shifted and let in some moonlight; to the right of the troll was Aveline, Harry and the youngest Weasley boy, while on the far side of the bathroom was Hermione and Zoe. Zoe had put herself between Hermione and the troll, holding up her wand. She muttered a few words under her breath; a white light washed over both of them.

"Zoe! Run!" shouted Orianna. Her sister, however, chose to not listen. She took another step back when the troll advanced, still putting herself between Hermione and the troll. "Run, you foolish girl! You two, are you just going to stand there? Run!"

Hermione was frozen with fear and simply shrank away from her voice, refusing to move. The troll, however, turned around to see what was making all the noise. The first thing it spotted was Harry and the Weasley; thinking that they were the ones to annoy it with all the shouting, the troll raised its club and took a sloppy swing at them, breaking several cubicles in the process and spraying the entire room with water from broken plumbing. Zoe tackled Hermione to the ground and threw herself over the Gryffindor bookworm; an action that saved both of them, considering that hundreds of sharp bits of wood, ceramic and metal had just been blasted through where they once stood.

"Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!" Orianna yelled, loosing three Cutting Charms in quick succession. They may as well have been flies biting its leathery hide; each charm simply bounced off its hide, doing little more than annoy the troll. "Damn it, this thing is as tough as it looks!"

As stupid as they were, trolls at least knew to look towards the source of the irritation on its hide. Which, as it happened, was not either of the boys. Finally spotting Orianna, the troll raised its club and let out a terrifying roar. It stomped towards her, intent on swinging its club against her head.

"LUMOS!" she screamed, putting as much magic as she could into her wand. She had never been so glad before for reading ahead on her material; a beam of blinding white light shot out of her wand, pointed straight at the creature's beady eyes. With a howl of pain, the troll dropped its club mid-swing, causing it to fly off and bury itself into a toilet stall. Its hands scrabbled blindly at its face, trying to find out why it could no longer see.

"Zoe! Get Hermione out of there! Move it! The troll is blinded!"

The red-ribboned Flynn quickly staggered to her feet and stooped over to pick up Hermione in a bridal carry. Aveline motioned for them to come to her, as she was nearest a doorway that seemed to lead into a hallway. Within seconds, Zoe had made her way across the room, and had nearly made it out when the troll swung its arms wide and battered her side. With a startled cry of surprise, Zoe was thrown into the air along with Hermione, slamming into the wall beside Harry and Ron.

Orianna saw red. Nobody touched either of her sisters and got away with it.

She looked at a nearby pipe, a good four-foot long piece of brass, and wrenched it free. She didn't know what she wanted to transfigure it into, but vaguely knew that she wanted something sharp. She wanted this creature to _bleed_ , to _suffer_. And her wand was all too happy to oblige her, thrumming with sadistic pleasure as it transformed the brass pipe into a serrated metal blade.

With an animalistic shriek, she charged at the troll, brass blade gripped in both hands. A powerful swing at the troll's arm cleaved through its skin and bone at the elbow, causing it to hang limply by threads of ragged sinew.

Another howl of pain by the troll, and Orianna vaguely recalled being thrown off her feet by some ungodly force and smashing against a wall behind the troll. A showerhead broke and sprayed her head with cold water; she staggered up again, gritting her teeth to ignore the throbbing pain in her ribs that came with every breath. The troll, still clutching its nearly-severed arm, did not see her charge at it from behind.

This time, she took aim at the back of the troll's knees. One blow sent it down to the ground on one leg, and another ensured that it fell flat on its front. The brass blade in her hand was mangled and bent by the abuse it had endured, but there was one more strike that she needed to do. Clambering onto the troll's body, she raised the blade up high and plunged it down with as much force as she could into the troll's neck.

The troll gave a ragged grunt of pain and then fell still.

Silence fell across the room as the others tried to process what had just happened. Black blood was oozing across the floor from the troll's body, mixing with water that was spraying from countless broken showerheads and sinks. Orianna sank down, clutching her side and biting back a pained hiss as her fury wore off.

"Is—is it dead?" Hermione asked, terrified.

"I think so," gulped Harry. Ron nodded weakly, unable to form any words.

"We'd better call for-"

"What in Merlin's name is going on—oh. Merlin. What happened here?"

"-the...teachers. Oh. Hi, Professor McGonagall,"

Professor McGonagall had burst into the room. Her face was ashen white, as though she had seen a ghost; and following closely behind her were Professors Snape and Quirrell. The former looked impassive as he scanned the wreckage of the bathroom, while the latter whimpered and quickly sat down on the nearest undamaged toilet, clutching his heart. Daphne and Tracey came up the rear, both girls looking rather nauseous and covering their noses with their robe-sleeves. Daphne's eyes widened somewhat as she saw Aveline helping Orianna back to her feet, letting her blood-soaked sister rest on her shoulder.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you are all doing!?" she thundered with cold fury in her voice. "You're all lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"Please, Professor – they were looking for me," Hermione said, in a small, plaintive voice.

"Miss Granger! Explain yourself,"

"I—I was in the girls' bathroom when the feast started," she said.

"And why would you be in here for so long?"

Hermione hung her head and fell silent. It was Zoe that spoke up, casting an angry glare at Harry and Ron. "I can answer that, Professor. These two gits-" she thumbed at the two boys, "-decided that they didn't like how brilliant 'Mione is as a witch. Know-it-all, they said. Bookworm, they said. Until today, after Charms class, they said something that really hurt her,"

"Oy! What'd we say to her, anyway?" Ron said indignantly.

He soon regretted it as Zoe rounded on him with a furious snarl. "I'll tell you what happened, you brainless, thoughtless idiot! Ooh, 'It's no wonder nobody can stand her'," Zoe said, in a poor imitation of Ron's voice, "'She's a nightmare, honestly. It's no wonder she has no friends'. You know, Weasley, I spent a good hour or two trying to console 'Mione. For the record, she does have friends – and if you can't see her helping you for what it is-"

"Enough, Miss Flynn, I think we understand," snapped Professor McGonagall, cradling her head. Slowly, she looked up again, her lips drawn so thin it was almost a line. "Five points to Gryffindor for standing by a friend in need. And you two – Mister Weasley in particular – I have never been so ashamed of my own house. What part of treating your housemates as you would your own family do you not understand? Fifty points from Gryffindor for tormenting one of your fellow housemates like that!"

"Fifty?" Ron gasped, "But that's – you can't-"

"You will not presume to tell me what I can or can't do, Mister Weasley!" barked Professor McGonagall. "Yes, from my own house! You will also serve a _month_ 's detention with Mister Filch, as it seems that you have not learned how to conduct yourself with humility,"

Ron looked absolutely murderous.

"Mister Potter. Did you taunt, torment or otherwise cause grief for Miss Granger?"

He shook his head, and Professor McGonagall turned her head to Hermione with an eyebrow raised. Hermione also shook her head. "Very well. As it seems that Miss Granger doesn't hold anything against you, you are free to go, Mister Potter. Now, if the two of you and Miss Zoe Flynn are unhurt, you will return to your dorms immediately,"

"Zoe, you took a hit from the club, didn't you?" Aveline said, concerned. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey,"

"I'm fine, Ivy," Zoe said, grinning. She held up her wand, before poking her robes. The robes wobbled like jelly. "Cushioning Charm, on my robes, see?"

"As for Miss Orianna Flynn, I do believe that she is injured," Snape said, eyeing the streak of crimson on Orianna's sleeve when she wiped her mouth. "You will not be returning to the Slytherin dorms for tonight. Five points to Slytherin apiece for Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis, for informing the teachers. Twenty points to Slytherin for defeating an adult mountain troll, Miss Orianna Flynn,"

"But ten points from Slytherin for choosing to fight the troll instead of letting a professor handle it instead," Professor McGonagall added. "There was no reason to put yourself in harm's way unnecessarily. And ten points to Gryffindor for creative usage of a Cushioning Charm, Miss Zoe Flynn. Severus, if you could take Miss Orianna Flynn to the hospital wing, I will take the others to their respective dorms,"

As Orianna walked after Snape, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Daphne and Tracey were conversing with Zoe and Hermione, while Aveline was still fussing over Zoe's apparently non-existent injuries. Ron was still fuming about his month of detentions, while Harry seemed torn between sticking by his friend or engaging in conversation with the girls.

Orianna frowned. She wanted things to simply settle down to normalcy between them. The girls weren't an issue; once they had gotten over the barriers of house loyalties, even Daphne seemed to be able to get along with Hermione.

No. The problem was not the girls. Rather, it was the boys. Aveline seemed to like having Harry around for some reason, and Orianna had to admit that the mild-mannered boy hadn't exactly offended her in any way at all. That he was opposed to Malfoy was simply a bonus; she wouldn't mind having a reason to punch him in the bollocks sometime. The youngest Weasley, however, was something else entirely. He was rude and uncouth, and often heckled Slytherins in public when he could get away with it. Even she hadn't gotten away from him when she sat beside her Gryffindor sister during lunches; he had often called her a 'filthy snake', among other disparaging remarks. Never mind that they were sisters, or that their Hufflepuff sister had decided to sit with them at the Gryffindor table. No, she was singled out just on account of her house, which was supposedly the source of all evil in the school – and even the entirety of Wizarding Britain, if his rants were to be believed.

He was becoming a problem. One that she needed to determine solutions for.

* * *

A/N:

One very dead troll, a chastised Ronald Weasley, and a Malfoy whose plans completely failed. Things are going along fairly swimmingly.

Dragon Man 180: I think all bets are off if there would be potentially lethal spells being cast, yes. Snape might be a jerk, but he will get his just desserts in later books. Remember that Dumb-as-a-door is protecting his greasy arse at this point.


	10. Cloak, Mask and Dagger

Severus Snape was not having a good evening.

No; that would be the understatement of the year. Severus Snape was having a _terrible_ evening. Damn Albus Dumbledore for forcing him to work as a spy! A double agent against the Dark Lord, no less!

After following the directions of two Slytherin girls to the site of the supposed troll attack, he and Minerva had discovered that the troll had been killed – by one of his own Slytherins, no less. There was something very strange about the entire scene. There were two very distinct human-shaped cracks in the walls, indicating that someone had been smashed by the troll. Ordinarily, he would have expected whatever student that had been hit by a twelve-foot-tall fully-grown mountain troll to be reduced to a bloody smear; but the cracks were completely clean of blood. The Gryffindor Flynn had used a Cushioning Charm on her own robes, which would have prevented most of the damage caused by a large club smashing into her. That much was in line with his understanding of defensive use of magic.

But the Slytherin Flynn had done no such thing. In fact, the back of her robes were thoroughly tattered and torn, with many bits of broken tile lodged into the fabric. Yet her skin was merely scratched, without even the smallest amount of blood spilled. The only injury that she had sustained, according to Poppy Pomfrey, were minute fractures in her ribs and a tiny tear in her lungs. Injuries that had mostly healed by the time they had arrived at the Hospital Wing. Thinking that her initial diagnostic charms had somehow been botched, she had cast them again, just to double check.

No. There was no mistake to be found. Their readings were accurate. The injuries were mostly healed; there were no external injuries to Miss Flynn; and to top it all off, Miss Flynn apparently weighed an astounding three hundred pounds. An anomaly that could be ascribed to the fact that her bones were not exactly bones when scanned by Poppy.

Rather, they were detected as _metal_ , but the charm could not identify what metal it was exactly. It left Poppy quite stumped as to _how_ someone's bones could be made out of an unknown metal. Self-transfiguration, while not unheard of, was an incredibly dangerous discipline that could potentially kill someone. She then thought that perhaps someone – likely another witch or wizard – had magically switched her bones with metal; but this idea was completely unsound, as Orianna's 'bones' had repaired themselves within minutes of arriving at the hospital wing. If they had been magically switched, the body would not be capable of mending even so much as the slightest of cracks on them.

Poppy almost had the thought of requesting the other two Flynn sisters to come for a healers' examination when Orianna raised her hand to stop her. She then asked if Poppy, as a medical practitioner (or a healer, as the wizarding world understood her role to be), had an equivalent to a patient confidentiality agreement. Naturally, the woman said yes and promptly sent Severus outside.

It was a setback for his role as spy and informant for Albus, of course, as Poppy took her Healer's Oath very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that even Albus could not even get the smallest bits of information out of her if it did not concern him directly. Not that either Severus nor Albus could not extract the required information in other ways, of course. Being a master of the Mind Arts did have its uses.

And so Severus stood outside of Albus' office. He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts of what he had extracted from Orianna's mind while he walked her back to the Slytherin dormitories.

" _Madam Pomfrey. Do I have your oath that nothing that I speak will be revealed to anyone else?" Orianna asked. Her tone was icy, and her eyes were fixed sharply on both Severus and Poppy as though assessing whether or not they were threats._

" _Of course. What do you think I am, some half-wit two-Sickle healer from Knockturn Alley?" Poppy scoffed indignantly. "I take my patients' concerns about their confidentiality with absolute care. My Healer's Oath prevents me from divulging any private information,"_

 _Orianna then frowned, deep in thought. Eventually, she sighed and cradled her head. "I see no way out of this. If I and both of my sisters are students at Hogwarts for the next six years, it is likely that we will need your help with injuries at some point or another. Madam Pomfrey, I request – no, I demand that you give me a promise that nothing – absolutely_ nothing _will be spoken to anyone else from what I am about to tell you,"_

 _Poppy glanced over to Severus and nodded. "Very well. Severus, if you would wait outside the hospital wing until we are finished,"_

 _The Slytherin girl watched as her head of house swept out of the hospital wing, a disapproving scowl on his face. The Hogwarts medi-witch waved her wand around her, casting several privacy wards and conjuring an opaque white screen around them. "Now. On my vows as a sworn Healer of Wizarding Britain, I, Poppy Charlotte Pomfrey, declare that any information confided to myself by one Orianna Flynn while in my care shall be treated as confidential. I shall not divulge anything to anyone, except when it is medically necessary to save her life or limb. This I swear upon my life and magic; so as I say, so mote it be,"_

 _Holding up her wand, Poppy incanted, "Lumos," When the wand lit up brightly, she then declared, "Nox,"_

" _A magical vow. Daphne said that they were the most binding form of magical agreement, and the most dangerous if given falsely," Orianna said, nodding in appreciation. "Very well. Madam Pomfrey, how much are you aware of advances in non-magical sciences?"_

 _She hesitated. "Not very much, I am afraid. There's little need for a healer to read about non-magical ways of curing illnesses when potions and wandwork can deal with nearly every affliction,"_

" _I see. What if I were to tell you that my mother never gave birth to me, or any of my sisters?"  
_

" _Then I would say that you were adopted. But in the magical world, adopting a single child is already difficult enough, to say nothing of adopting triplets,"_

" _And what if I were to say that you were wrong? That I – and my sisters – are genetically descended from my mother? That is to say, of her bloodline?"_

" _But that is impossible! A woman is required to give birth to a child of her own blood,"_

" _Not in the non-magical world. At least, not for myself and my sisters. You see, our mother is what is known as a geneticist. One of the best in the muggle world, if I am to believe what my other mother says about her. We were born in machines – great tubes of glass and metal, to be exact. Artificial wombs,"_

 _Poppy was clearly having a hard time wrapping her head around everything that was said. A child that was born of machine, and not of man; and to two women, and not a woman and a man. She plopped herself down on a nearby chair and snapped her fingers. A cup of steaming hot tea immediately appeared in her hands, which she drank quickly._

" _That still does not explain your...metal bones,"_

" _I am getting there. You see, my mother was – is – ambitious. To simply create a child from herself and my other mother would be trivial for her. No, she said that at the time, she thought it was a wasteful use of resources. She searched for greatness. Perfection. To put it simply, she modified us before we were even in the artificial wombs. We were...crafted...to be stronger, faster and more durable than normal humans,"_

" _Fascinating. And do you know how this is done?"_

" _No. My mother has never taught me this. She insisted that if anyone that did not need to know knew about any of it, it could be very dangerous for us,"_

 _Poppy's eyes grew wide as saucers as she pondered the possibilities."Merlin. The Aurors would have a field day if they knew,"_

" _The magical law enforcement officers? Yes, they would indeed. Now consider that the same is true for those who are against the law. You do understand why this information must remain hidden, yes?"_

" _Of course!" Poppy exclaimed, horrified by the thought._

" _Very well. I would greatly appreciate it if you were to...hide our origins from the other students and staff," Orianna said, biting on her lips. "If it would make things easier for you in the future, I did find out from my sister that potions seem to be far less sensitive on us. After Zoe took a Pimple Jinx to the face from a prank gone wrong, we had to use four doses of the potion to actually begin seeing any difference,"_

" _Noted. I suppose the same goes for you and your other sister? Aveline, wasn't it?"_

" _Presumably so, yes,"_

" _Well, thank you for notifying me about your condition and that of your sisters, Miss Flynn. Now, ordinarily I would say that after surviving a troll's club to the ribs, a person ought to remain in bed for at least a week with an intensive course of Skele-Gro and Blood Replenishing Potions, but my scans have indicated that you are mostly healed. I will still prescribe you to a course of Nutrient Potions, just in case," Poppy said._

"Please state your business," the gargoyle in front of Albus' office droned, breaking Severus out of his reverie. He scowled, thinking about how much he should reveal to Albus. Merlin knows what that man would do if he knew every little secret, let alone something this large. And as that thought passed through his mind, an involuntary shiver passed down his spine. What would the Dark Lord do if he knew about this?

He dearly wished he had just sent the stupid girl to the hospital wing alone. Some secrets were best left undiscovered.

* * *

News of the Halloween troll incident quickly travelled through the Hogwarts grapevine. At first, it was rumoured that one of the three Flynn sisters had killed a fully-grown mountain troll with the aid of several other first-years. Then it changed to just a few of the first years and a teacher. By the end of a fortnight, the rumours had changed to Orianna being the one that killed the troll, though that was the extent of their truthfulness. If scuttlebutt in the Gryffindor dorms were to be believed, Orianna was a half-giant who had single-handedly wrestled the troll to submission before tossing it off the top of the Astronomy tower; one particular Hufflepuff even insisted that Orianna had shoved the troll's face into a toilet and kept it there until it drowned.

Her two sisters' accounts of the truth were completely ignored in favour of the greatly embellished versions of events, much to the dour Flynn's chagrin. Which therefore resulted in the current state of events, where most students would give Orianna a wide berth and mutter things about her wrestling dragons, trolls, giants and other outlandish things.

"I wish they would simply stop staring and whispering," snarled Orianna as she speared a chunk of bacon on her fork. "Can I not eat without people looking?"

"Hmmm...let me think. Nope!" Tracey said in a sing-song voice. "At least you can actually eat properly, Ori. I overheard that a certain someone in Gryffindor has had rather explosive experiences...in the boys' toilet. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Zoe?"

"I might have heard the tail end of those, up in the girls' dorms,"

Glowering all the while, Orianna devoured the rest of her breakfast in short order. "I do not know how Potter handles this every single day. All these stares make me...uneasy,"

"Cheer up, Ori! At least today there aren't any classes on Saturday. Oh wait; there's even Quidditch on today!" Aveline said cheerfully, "And we get to see Harry play for the first time!"

"I thought that first-years were not permitted to own broomsticks, let alone play for the house Quidditch teams? And Hermione, you seem quiet today. Is Harry not one of your good friends? Are you not excited to see him play?"

"What? Oh, right. Yes, of course I am," Hermione answered absent-mindedly as she flipped another page in the thick book in front of her. Orianna narrowed her eyes at the distracted Gryffindor bookworm. It was not every day, after all, that Hermione did not pay attention to whatever was happening around her – even if she was actually reading a book. "It's Gryffindor versus...Hufflepuff?"

"Slytherin," corrected Zoe, who rolled her eyes. "Seriously, 'Mione? You hang around Harry a lot, you know. When you're not with us, I mean. He's been training really hard and it's pretty much all that he's been talking about for the past couple of weeks. Are you coming with us to see the match, Ori?"

"I think we're separated by house, but yes. Unfortunate as it is, Professor Snape insists that we all attend for the sake of 'house solidarity',"

"Seriously? The dungeon bat said that?" Zoe said incredulously, "That sounds more like something that Professor Sprout would say to Hufflepuffs. Anyway, we really should finish up with breakfast and head up to the pitch. It's going to be hard to find a good seat if we get there after everyone else. C'mon, 'Mione!"

Zoe drained her cup of pumpkin juice and pulled Hermione to her feet. Ignoring the protests from the bushy-haired brunette, she practically dragged her out of the hall. "Huh. It looks like she left her book," Aveline commented, noticing the book that was still left open on the table. Out of curiosity, Aveline fished out a note that was poking out of it and read it. "Huh. Flamel...philosopher's stone...attempted Gringotts robbery in maximum security vaults?" she murmured, before putting the note back into the book.

Orianna noticed that a look of recognition flitted across Daphne's face. It was there for only the briefest of moments before the blonde schooled her face to her usual icy expression again. The Slytherin Flynn made a mental note to ask some questions later in the dorms. "Aveline, perhaps you should return the book to Hermione if you are to run into her later. We are going to be on the opposite end of the Quidditch pitch, and thus will not have the chance to return the book to her,"

"Not that the Gryffs will let us get anywhere near their stands anyway," commented Tracey. "They'd probably throw us out of there if we tried, troll-slayer with us or not. Anyway, take a look at the Gryff table. I think Slytherin might have an easy win after all,"

Over at the Gryffindor table, Harry was being encouraged by the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and his best friend, Ronald Weasley. Not that their friendly words had any apparent effect; in fact, if anything, the boy seemed to turn paler and paler with every passing moment. "Yep! Definitely an easy win,"

* * *

That evening, the Slytherins returned to their dorms in a rather gloomy mood. They, the undefeated champions of the Quidditch Cup for seven years straight, had been defeated by their arch-nemeses in the opening match of the year. If they had been defeated by the talents of a senior Gryffindor, it would have been slightly more tolerable. But no, they had not been defeated by a senior Gryffindor.

Rather, they had been beaten by a _first year_ , of all people. By the Gryffindor Seeker, Harry Potter, who could not even control his broomstick properly in the middle of the match. It started to buck and toss in mid-air, as though trying to throw its rider off, but then stopped when a fire in the teachers' stands caused several professors to flee the stands in panic. To make the loss even more of an insult, Potter did not even catch the Snitch with his hands. Rather, he had nearly _swallowed_ the tiny golden ball while on a misbehaving broomstick!

Thus the Slytherin blame game began in earnest in the common room. Orianna in particular had received a lot of hostile comments from others who had believed that with her as a Beater, they might have knocked all of the Gryffindor players out cold. She countered that she hadn't outright refused to play for Slytherin; rather, it was just a matter of fact that they hadn't been able to find her a school broom that wouldn't break with her on it. Not that Madam Hooch even let them try any more of the brooms after they tried the first five, which were all now splinters in a bin somewhere.

"Well, at least it's the last game before Yule," Tracey muttered, flopping down on Orianna's bed.

"Tracey, that is not your bed," Orianna sighed. The brunette girl simply stuck out her tongue and sat up, shifting across. Orianna resignedly sat down beside her, knowing that there wasn't any way she could move Tracey without literally tossing her off. "Fine, you can stay for now. But you will go to sleep before curfew this time,"

"Pfft. Spoilsport. Anyway, enough talk of Quidditch. The boys are going to talk our ears off anyway tomorrow about it, and I'm sure Potter's Gryffindors are going to taunt us all week too. Are you two going home for the Yule break?"

"Most likely. My mother did inform me that she would want myself and my sisters back in London over Christmas,"

"Since my mum and dad don't want me back at the Davis manor for the Yule break, I'm staying at Hogwarts," Tracey said, pouting. "What about you, Daphy? Do your parents want you back?"

Daphne frowned. "I wish they did not," she replied slowly. Orianna raised an eyebrow while Tracey clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "You know the reason why, Tracey. I really do not want to be back at the Greenfields if I can help it, but a letter to Dumbledore from my father and I could be brought straight back to his study in a flash,"

"That's tough, Daphy. I wish I could help, but...well..." Tracey muttered, trailing off. There was an odd pensive look on her face; Orianna was surprised that the carefree girl could even be capable of deep thoughts. Nevertheless, it was soon replaced by her usual impish grin. "But I know the next best thing! When you do come back, I'll make sure that you know everything about the adventures

I'll have over the break,"

"That sounds...wonderful, Tracey," said Daphne with a forced smile.

"It will be! Just wait and see,"

When Orianna was sure that Tracey was asleep, she slipped out of bed and walked over to Daphne's. "Daphne," she said, slipping under the blonde's four-poster bed curtains. Daphne turned and opened a bleary eye, somewhat irritated by the interruption. "May I sit?"

"Yes. You have a good reason for stopping me from getting a good sleep?" groused Daphne, sitting up and shifting aside, allowing Orianna to sit down beside her.

"I wanted to talk about that note that Zoe found earlier. It mentioned things about a certain Flamel, a philosopher's stone, and a Gringotts robbery. You looked as though you knew about whoever this Flamel is. Would you care to share your knowledge?"

The blonde sat bolt upright. "What is it to you?" Daphne asked carefully, narrowing her eyes.

"Just curious about who this person is, and what the stone does. After all, if someone wanted to break into the most secure bank in Britain to get something, they would not have done it for no good reason,"

"I can't tell you," answered Daphne flatly. Her eyes had hardened to chips of icy green. "Please, Orianna. I value you as a friend, but some things I cannot reveal. My father has forbidden me to speak of...our ally to those who have not met him. Some things are simply too dangerous to be known by the greater public,"

Orianna nodded slowly, knowing that all too well. "Thank you," Daphne breathed in relief. "Now, I would really like to sleep. Goodnight, Orianna,"

"Goodnight, Daphne. Sleep well," replied the red-haired Slytherin. She now had more to ponder on; Daphne knew who this Flamel was, that much for certain. Yet she was unable to reveal anything about the man, claiming that it was dangerous. Perhaps the man was dangerous, or perhaps his creation was dangerous.

The philosopher's stone. What it was, she had no clue. But the scrap of paper spoke of an attempted Gringotts robbery in a maximum security vault, which meant that it was a valuable item. But valuable rarely meant dangerous, and if it was truly dangerous, she doubted that the goblins would let this Flamel store it down in the vaults.

Even stranger was the fact that Hermione was investigating something regarding this Flamel and the stone. Given that she always hanged around Harry whenever she was not with Orianna's group, it was likely that the two were up to something. But what would a pair of schoolchildren want to do about something in a maximum security vault? It made so little sense.

Regardless, as she settled down to sleep in her own bed, she made a mental note to report the situation back to her mother when she came back home. This was too strange to be ignored.

* * *

Days flew past until the Christmas break was finally upon them. Hermione, Ron and Harry were all staying behind in Hogwarts, as were the rest of the Weasleys. Tracey had taken it upon herself to continue to prank Ron in Zoe's absence; Gryffindor's resident glutton had not eased off his envious tirades against Hermione's academic superiority. Thankfully, however, Zoe had made sure that Hermione realised that she was far better than he was, and had no reason to be fret about 'having no friends'. Which was arguably a logical fallacy, considering that she had Harry, herself, her sisters, Tracey and Daphne as her friends.

"You see, 'Mione, if you really had no friends – we wouldn't be here, would we?" she grinned as she hugged Hermione goodbye. She slipped a tiny bottle of what looked like hot sauce into Hermione's robe pocket, whispering into her ears, "Switching Spells work amazingly well on liquids. And on people who can't stop eating,"

"What's this?" she asked, fingering the smooth bottle in her pocket.

"Let's just say that whoever eats it will spend some quality time in the loo,"

"Zoe! You know you shouldn't be pranking anyone," Hermione huffed, but there was no heart in it. After all, it was rather difficult for her to ignore the fact that Zoe had been targeting Ron specifically for the insults thrown the bushy-haired brunette's way for the last couple of months.

"Pfft. You'll thank me later for it, 'Mione. Anyway, I think we should probably get going before Professor McGonagall gets mad,"

"We'll get you all some nice Christmas presents when we get back. Promise!" Aveline added cheerfully, hugging Tracey and Hermione in turn.

The journey back to London was largely uneventful, save for one time that Malfoy and his goons attempted to enter their compartment. Zoe and Aveline both stifled giggles as they watched the blond boy strain and struggle to open the door that had been locked by a Colloportus spell not long after the train had left. Eventually, after even Crabbe and Goyle could not open the door, Malfoy stalked off to find another compartment. "As a Slytherin, I should not be holding grudges against Malfoy, but that was too funny. Is he so stupid that he does not know the unlocking charm?" Daphne snickered.

"You really don't like him, do you?"

"Well, let us see," Daphne said sarcastically, counting on her fingers. "Considering that his father has always been pushing for a marriage contract between the two of us, the way that he acts all so high-and-mighty, flaunting his father's wealth and status so openly that is sickening? No, I cannot see a single reason why I should dislike him,"

"Really? But you looked and sounded like you really disliked him,"

"It was sarcasm, Aveline,"

"Oh,"

The entire compartment (minus Aveline) burst into good-natured laughter at the green-ribboned girl's innocent mistake. "Merlin. Never change, Aveline," Daphne laughed lightly. A very rare event, given her usual icy demeanour. "Never change,"

When the train finally arrived at Kings' Cross Station, the girls had changed out of their Hogwarts robes and back into their normal day-to-day wear. All three of the Flynn girls had thought that Daphne was rather pretty in her shimmering acromantula silk school robes, but nothing would have prepared any of them for the mesmerising sight of her winter dress. She wore a silver silk dress which flowed loosely to mid-thigh. Tasteful silver lace decorated its hem and sleeves, and beneath all that she wore black stockings of some shining, shimmering material. Over her dress she wore a thick velvet cloak with white fox-fur trim.

Aveline and Zoe looked at each other uncertainly and then looked down at their own clothes. Both of them wore drab camouflage-pattern trousers with a plain white shirt underneath, with a somewhat worn and scuffed trench coat over the top. Their hair, as ever, hung in messy sheets of bright orange-red down their backs. "I think..."

"...We need better clothes,"

"Just because you two cannot take care of your clothes," sniffed Orianna disapprovingly. Her own trench coat was pressed and neat, and she had tied her hair back into a loose knot underneath a beret. "In any event, we should disembark. Our parents are already likely waiting,"

"No need to remind me," grumbled Daphne. Sighing, she composed herself and lifted up her trunk. "Well, then, I suppose this is it. I'll see you three next term,"

The blonde was the first of the four to disembark; and for the first time, Orianna saw Daphne's parents.

Her mother was a stunning blonde, dainty and slender of build just like her daughter. There was a stately elegance about her; from the way she walked, the way she talked, even the way she greeted others around her. Every action was considered, every movement planned. Not a single hair out of place in her beautiful curls of gold. Her robes were embroidered in silver and bedecked in countless emeralds, flaunting the wealth and power of House Greengrass. She chatted and gossiped with other ladies, each of whom were equally as regal and refined as she.

On sighting Daphne, she excused herself and glided over to her daughter. "Daphne," she said, dipping her head just a tiny fraction.

"Mother," replied Daphne coldly.

"Come now, is that really any way to greet your mother?" chided her father in a deep, baritone voice as he strode alongside his wife. Her father wore a dispassionate expression that betrayed nothing of his thoughts or state of mind, though there was a keen intelligence behind those stormy grey eyes. "I had raised you better than that, Daphne. You will address your mother with respect,"

Daphne looked close to snapping out an acid remark, but bit back her reply anyway. "I am sorry. I apologise, mother, if my tone was irreverent. Hogwarts was...trying,"

"Piffle. You simply have not studied as well as you should," said her mother, waving off Daphne's comments. "And who are your fellow students that you travel with? I must say that they look...unfamiliar,"

Judging by her upturned nose and slightest hints of a scowl, she certainly was not impressed by Orianna's look. "Well, Daphne? Will you not introduce us to your friends?"

"I—very well. Mother, this is Orianna, Zoe and Aveline Flynn. Orianna, Zoe, Aveline; this is my mother, Persephone, Lady of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Greengrass; and my father, Charles, Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Greengrass,"

"Of House?"

"Hufflepuff," blurted out Aveline, who was immediately silenced by a deathly glare from Orianna.

"No house, ma'am. Sir," corrected Orianna, giving a slight curtsy to each, just as Daphne taught her. It was awkward to do so without a dress, for certain; she wished that she were permitted to simply bow, as men and boys were expected to. "We are first-generation witches, or as you would see us, muggleborn,"

"Of course, we already knew that," chuckled Lord Greengrass. His grey eyes were on Orianna, and the girl had a strange feeling that he was seeing straight through her. "How could we not, when the news on the grapevine was rife with rumours of the first muggleborn Slytherin in known history? No, we were merely assessing whether or not our daughter had forgotten her manners while at school,"

"And if Lucius has any say about you, one would think that you were some great, hulking brute of a girl, more troll than man. Yet I see only a girl here who might become a fair woman, given time,"

"Forgive me if this is improper, but may I know who is this Lucius that you speak of?"

"Ah, of course. You would likely not know any of the old families' heads, seeing as you have not been raised among us. Very well, just this once; I speak of Lucius, Lord of House Malfoy," Lady Greengrass spoke. "His son had rather colourful comments to say about you. Fighting his friends on the day of the Sorting, and remaining hostile all through term? You must be either very brave or very foolish,"

Orianna shrugged. "I could not care less about what he thinks. So long as he stays out of my affairs, I will stay out of his. A rather difficult task, considering how often he tries to insult me,"

"But that is where you are wrong, young muggleborn," Lord Greengrass said, smirking unpleasantly. "Sooner or later, you will realise that some families are worth paying more attention to, and to make peace with. You should know that Lord Malfoy is very well connected and is extremely wealthy; both traits of a man who is capable of propelling you to a high position. Of course, the reverse is true, should you continue to offend him,"

"Is that a threat, Lord Greengrass?"

"No, not at all. On the contrary, it is just...a friendly warning. We have observed entire Houses rise and fall with their aid and their displeasure. And without a House, you are even more vulnerable than those of us with the fortune to be born to those with a history of carrying the gift of magic,"

"Oh, but look at the time. It has been a...pleasure, Misses Flynn, but we must return to our estate. Perhaps we will meet again in the future. Come, Daphne,"

With a thunderous crack, Daphne and her parents vanished from the train platform. "Hopefully not," muttered Orianna under her breath. Turning towards the platform entry, she found both her mothers already waiting there, clad in the thickest coats that they had. Which, suffice to say, made them look as though they were ready to go on a polar expedition in comparison to the thin ones augmented by warming charms worn by witches and wizards.

Orianna fingered her wand longingly; it was going to be rather difficult to resist the temptation to practice her spells at every chance she got.

* * *

A/N:

-lights Snape on fire with Incendio- SPY! I SEE A SPY! AND HE'S SAPPING MAH MIND!

NecroJake: Yes, I intend to speed things along once the relationships are done. I really don't want to do a retell of the canon story with the simple addition or substitution of one or more OCs into the plot. That's boring to do for both myself and the readers. Fourth year is when things really should start picking up. Third year is basically Harry-centric so far as plot is concerned, so there's not much to be done that year.

gginsc: In a way, this is true; but at the same time, both of the other sisters are aware of their enhanced durability. If Orianna could still stand and fight, they would think that she was still okay.

Dragon Man 180: Hot karma is hot. With bucketloads of wet poop-inducing hot sauce. As far as Harry getting into the exercises, we will see, won't we? Befriending a Gryffindor is one thing, but befriending the Golden Boy is likely to bring down the ire of the entire Slytherin house on all of our Slytherin girls.


	11. Birth of Magitechnology

The very first thing that Aveline noticed about her parents when they arrived back in London was how happy they were. It was not the sort of forced smile that she knew they put up when Uncle Adams was around the house, or when they had to calm her down after a nightmare. Rather, it was the radiant smile of someone that was truly and utterly in bliss. Like Aveline was after eating a large strawberry cake with lots and lots of chocolate to follow it up with.

The second thing that she noticed was that her other mother, Lucille, seemed _younger_ somehow. She'd seen her use the disgusting-smelling hair dye to keep her hair a dark brown, which did its job and hid every little bit of grey that was coming through but left her smelling worse than when she came back from a day in a hospital. She'd also seen her use all of the weird bits of make-up that she dabbed, brushed or scraped onto her skin to hide her wrinkles and lines. As far as Aveline could see, there was nothing of the sort on her this time around.

The same was also true for Amanda, whose fair skin was practically glowing with radiance, and her bright red hair resembled rivers of liquid copper, shining in the winter sun. The lines and wrinkles that had started to form on her face at the start of the year had all but vanished. Aveline could not help but wonder exactly how did they manage to do that. Asking Amanda had only resulted in her receiving half an answer; something about a secret that existed in the vault that used to be Phineas Black's. Other than that, her mother had flat-out refused to answer her, with a clear warning in her eyes to not ask any more.

A week flew past at the Flynn household. Orianna had kept both Aveline and Zoe fit and trim with their daily morning runs at Hogwarts, and she showed no intention of ever stopping, even for Christmas.

On the day before Christmas, however, the girls decided to tell their parents about the events of Halloween. Both Lucille and Amanda were horrified when Orianna had reported the troll attack on Hogwarts. In fact, Lucille had paled and collapsed into the nearest chair when she heard that the troll had even managed to hit both Orianna and Zoe and sent them flying hard enough to crack walls on impact.

"You are...not unwell?" queried Lucille, who began examining Zoe immediately after she stood up. "Do you experience any pain while I press...'ere?" she said, pressing her fingers against Zoe's ribs.

Zoe promptly giggled and fell over in laughter. "Mum, stop!" she gasped, "That tickles! The troll didn't do anything to me. Ori got hit harder, but even she's okay!"

"Is zis true, ma fille? You are...unhurt?" said Lucille sharply, spinning around to face Orianna.

"It is the truth," Orianna replied with a shrug. "A little painful after the initial impact, but otherwise I seem to have healed within the hour. I did feel hungry afterwards, though,"

"Hm. If I was not part of your muzzer's team when she was creating you, I would zink you would need an X-ray image taken, and likely more than a few casts. Still, it is good to 'ear zat 'er modifications 'ave proven useful,"

"Of course. It would take much more than an impact from an overgrown troglodyte to damage my daughters' ultra-dense ceramo-metal bones," sniffed Amanda imperiously. She looked rather proud of the three. "Though I am not amused by the fact that you decided to engage in an uncontrolled test of your physical durability, Orianna, Still, I am glad that you are unharmed. Even more glad am I to hear that you three have been looking after each other throughout the year. Zoe, Orianna, Aveline; come here.

The three girls looked at each other curiously and approached their mother. Amanda threw her arms around each girl in turn, giving them tight hugs. "Above all, I am proud of you three. That was not a situation any child should be in, yet you handled yourselves well. Should I be considering whether or not to move you to another educational institution?"

"No!" yelled all three of the girls in unison, taking Amanda aback with their sudden yells. "We're okay, mum. Even Ori's okay, and she was the one that took the hardest hit," pleaded Zoe. "And for once, we're actually having fun. The classes that we're getting are interesting! And—Ori's actually making friends!"

"Yes, I heard as much," Amanda hummed, glancing over in Orianna's direction and smiling a little. "I'm pleased to hear that. But your safety – the safety of all three of you – is my paramount concern. From what I have read of Hogwarts Castle in books, it is supposedly the safest place in magical Britain. Yet somehow, a very dangerous creature was loose _inside_ of the castle. What happened to all the wards, the supposed shields that protect the castle from attackers? From your descriptions of its intelligence, I doubt that such a dim-witted creature could be able to open doors. I would be more inclined to think that someone has purposely allowed the creature in. Have you thought of that, Orianna?"

Orianna flushed and slowly shook her head. "No," she ground out, "No, I have not,"

"There is no shame in that. You would have been preoccupied with your studies...and training," Amanda said, running a hand through Orianna's hair. "But this means that we can no longer assume Hogwarts Castle is as safe as it sounds. Either someone is being criminally negligent about security, or there is someone in a position of power that is deliberately putting students at risk,"

"Oui. We need to know if you will be safe zere, ma fille. Ozzerwise, I 'ave read about zis ozzer _academie de magique_ in France. Beauxbatons, I zink it was called,"

"You can't do that!"

"Mum!"

"I can and I will, ma cheries," said Lucille sharply. The girls fell silent, and Lucille took in a deep breath. "But...only if it is necessary. If your safety cannot be guaranteed by zis 'eadmaster or 'is staff, zen I and your mother have no ozzer choice but to move you elsewhere. It iz not as zough you will not be practicing _magique_ as you have for the past few months. You would simply be learning about it elsewhere,"

"However, that is only a last resort," reassured Amanda. "Now, come to the basement. It is time that I showed you what we have been working towards while you were at school,"

"It's not another dissected frog, is it?" groaned Zoe. "I've seen enough of those at Hogwarts,"

"No. It is not. It is...much more,"

Amanda walked over to the broom cupboard under the staircase. Leaning down, she lifted up a threadbare white carpet and folded it to the side; underneath was a metal trapdoor with a ladder leading down. "After you, girls," Amanda said to her children.

In the basement was a brightly-lit laboratory. Countless beakers, flasks and vials of every shape and size filled a vast shelf bolted to one wall. The walls and floors were covered in pure white ceramic tiles, kept so clean that Aveline could see her reflection on the floor. There were tall metal cupboards lining another wall, set up beside workbenches and sinks where a swan-necked flask sat atop a metal cradle above a gas burner. And right next to it was a cutting board with what were unmistakably magical ingredients; a wrinkled stone that Aveline recognised as a bezoar, a few silvery-white berries and a giant golden unicorn horn.

"Uh...mum?" asked Aveline uncertainly. Her sisters also looked rather confused by what they were seeing. "Are you...making a potion?"

"Indeed, I am," she said, smiling. "Did you think that I would be remaining idle while you were studying magic? No, I know where Diagon Alley is, and so does your mother,"

"But I thought you needed to be a witch to get in. I mean, you need a wand, don't you?"

Amanda's grin widened even further. She slipped a hand into a pocket in her laboratory coat and pulled out a slender stick of gnarled hazel. "Wait...you're...a witch?!" squeaked Aveline excitedly. "How did I – no, how did _we_ not know about this, mum?!"

"No, I am afraid I am not a witch, Aveline," chuckled Amanda. "This is your genetic father's wand. On our second visit to Diagon Alley – which we needed assistance from the barkeep of The Leaky Cauldron to enter – I and your mother decided to inspect our vaults in person. We found his wand stored inside. While I can't perform any of the magic that was described in the spellbooks you bought, it still allows me to enter Diagon Alley...and brew potions,"

"Don't you need to wave your wand with magic over the cauldron to make it work?" asked Zoe, "I mean, that's what Snape told us,"

"Professor Snape," corrected Orianna. "But yes, what Zoe has described was correct, mother. It is in the textbook. There is a small magical component to potioncrafting, where we need to pulse a bit of magic into the potion to make sure that the ingredients' properties are properly bound,"

"That is correct. But the book never mentioned just how much magic was required to do this act. Which, as it happened, is extremely little. So little, in fact, that even a supposedly non-magical person could wave a wand over a reaction vessel and have it work,"

"So does that mean...we can make potions at home, and we won't get caught by...what did Daphne call it...the Ministry Trace?" Zoe asked, in awe by what her mother had discovered.

Amanda, however, crossed her arms and chewed on her lip a little. "I do not know the answer for certain, but it is best to not test the Ministry of Magic's systems. I have heard about the so-called Wand Trace from Mister Ollivander, and from what I could understand, it seems to place some sort of surveillance on your wands. Meaning that if you were to attempt to use it in a place where the Ministry does not approve of magic being used, you would be subject to punishment,"

"How bad could it be?" scoffed Zoe. "I mean, we're all aware of magic here, right? There shouldn't be a problem,"

"As I said, I do not know the answer for certain. But the risk is far too great, Zoe. Would you risk your wand being snapped and your magic purged, just because you were too impatient?" Amanda chided her daughter. Zoe pouted and shrank back, disappointed. "Now, as I was saying, there are two kinds of places where there definitely aren't any issues. One kind is a public magical location,"

"Like Diagon Alley?"

"Yes. Diagon Alley and Hogwarts. The other kind is a magical household,"

"But we _are_ a magical household!" Zoe complained. "We can use magic, and there's nobody else around to see it!"

"You three might be magical. I certainly am not, and neither is Lucille. Even if we were all magical, this house would not count as a magical household. According to Mister Ollivander, the Trace works in any house that is _not_ listed in the Ministry as being magical. And to even be considered, we must have at least three generations of magicals living in the same household,"

"So we can't practice magic at home? That really sucks," sighed Zoe.

"There is, however, one other solution. And this solution...is for your Christmas presents. For all three of you," said Amanda, smiling wryly as she fished out a heavy purse of Galleons from the inside of her lab coat. "Are you three excited for some shopping?"

* * *

It didn't take long before Amanda regretted her decision to take her three children shopping to Diagon Alley. Her coinpurse, filled with five hundred Galleons, quickly emptied itself as her children went from shop to shop, purchasing all manner of bits and baubles. Orianna had purchased for herself some sort of earring that supposedly silenced everything else around her, while Zoe and Aveline decided to splurge on a crate of Chocolate Frogs. "It's just once in a year, ma cherie," Lucille reminded Amanda, whose left eye twitched slightly as she thought of just how much sugar the two children were devouring.

"Even so, that is _not_ good for their health," grumbled Amanda.

The three children had complained of their telescopes being inadequate for Astronomy, and Amanda was inclined to agree. Who in their right mind would still use _refracting_ telescopes in the modern era? Reflecting telescopes gave much higher quality images; and if they had an auto-graphing charm applied to them, all the better. Forty Galleons went into buying four of them (one extra for a certain Tracey, who was apparently fond of stargazing). A solid copper cauldron made for a fine gift to Hermione, and an unbreakable, smooth-writing quill was for Daphne.

And after a couple more hours of shopping, Lucille and Amanda found themselves going into a darker alleyway. "Uh, mum? Are we really going down here?" Aveline asked furtively, shrinking as they passed under a narrow archway. The path was a slush of half-melted snow and ice, scarcely wide enough to accommodate two people side-by-side. Several witches and wizards gave them dirty looks as they squeezed past while balancing stacks of wrapped boxes and bags; more than once, a bag or a box toppled to the ground, knocked over by a shoulder or an arm.

"Yes, we are. And...hmm...there it is,"

They stood in front of a dingy storefront. The half-rotted wooden sign bore a haphazardly retouched painting of a wand projecting several sparks; above the weather-beaten doorway stood another sign that read _'Umbral Wands'_.

Amanda and Lucille walked in first. A toothless old witch with flake-covered grey hair stood hunched behind a mouldy wooden counter, using a knife to whittle away at a block of wood in front of her. Only when the small silver bell above the doorway dinged did she realise that she had customers. "I'm sure that you're lost, aren't you—oooh, wait, I remember. You were that muggle that was looking for some...special services, weren't you? The one that came with the goblins to show you around?" the witch said loudly, picking her ear and extracting a wad of sticky-looking orange wax.

"That would be correct, Madam Umbra. My daughters require something more...discreet,"

"Discreet, is it? Was it...hmm...let me remember. Did you need wands without-"

"Yes," Amanda cut her off. "One traceless wand for each of them. Custom made to suit them as best as possible. Can you do that?"

"I certainly can!" she cackled, giving the three young girls a grin that made them cringe in mingled fear and disgust. "But, let's talk price first, shall we? My services aren't cheap, and I need to...let's say...grease some palms to make sure that I can still work here. A hundred and fifty Galleons for each wand seems to be a fair price,"

Aveline blanched. A hundred and fifty Galleons was a _lot_ of money! "Mum, you don't have to-"

"I insist, Aveline," she said curtly. Turning to the shopkeeper, she said, "That price is outrageous. Surely you can do better; an Ollivander wand only costs eight Galleons. I will pay no more than a hundred Galleons a wand,"

"You must be madder than I thought, muggle. I run a great risk by making these. One hundred and forty Galleons,"

"One hundred and ten,"

"One hundred and thirty, and no lower!"

"A hundred and twenty-five, and you make the wands by this afternoon. That is my final offer. I doubt that you would find another customer willing to pay so much,"

The old hag scowled but nodded her assent. "Fine. Bleed an old lady dry, would you," she groused. "Who wants to go first? Show me your current wand, so I know roughly what I need to test you with,"

One by one, the Flynn sisters handed her their wands. She checked each of them thoroughly – for their polish, their wood, their stiffness and length, and their cores. Aveline's wand she handled quickly, as though touching it burned her; Zoe's she waved about with a curious look on her face; and Orianna's vibrated and shot a burst of acid-green sparks as soon as she touched it. "An angry wand, that one!" she cackled in amusement, handing it back to Orianna. "Well, your daughters' wands are in good condition. I can certainly make a traceless wand by the end of the afternoon,"

"Wait, you don't need us to try out wands?" blurted out Zoe.

Madam Umbra snorted bitterly. "Is that what old Ollivander does these days to check if a wand is compatible? He's growing lazy, that scoundrel. No, you shouldn't _need_ to try your wands if they were made _just_ for you, from materials that are matched to you,"

"Then why does he do it with us?"

"Because he's made a whole lot of wands with no definite owner beforehand!" snarled the woman furiously. "'A wand chooses its master', my chewed-up hat! If I received a Sickle for every time he spouts off that rubbish to an unsuspecting witch or wizard, I would have a shop in Diagon Alley by now. No. It's complete and utter shite-"

Lucille yelped and clamped her hands over Aveline's ears.

"-I tell you. Shite that the cock-sucking wanker spouts off just so that he can peddle his thoroughly plebeian wares! No class, no flair, no power, no finesse! Cheap is what it is! Rubbish made cheap, to please the masses! A travesty! An insult to my craft!"

"I think that we have heard quite enough," Amanda said sharply. "My daughters are still quite young, as you have noticed, and I would prefer that their language remains...pure,"

"Pah. Fine. I suppose I am working on your Sickle, aren't I? Well, I'll need one more thing. I know the wood that they need, but if you really want their wands to be responsive and powerful – and loyal – the wood needs one more material,"

"And what would that be?"

"Their blood," the hag said. An unsettling grin crept on her face as she motioned for the girls to come forward. Amanda nodded reluctantly, giving herself a mental note to thoroughly cleanse the cuts once they get back home. Thankfully, the old witch's knife was extremely sharp, and the girls barely winced as their blood dribbled down onto individual wand blanks. "Feh. Muggles. Can't use a wand to heal themselves..." she heard the woman mutter as Lucille wrapped bandages over the cuts on each of the girls' palms. "Anyway; go on, git! I'll need time to make these wands, and I don't want no distractions while I work!"

And thus the family was ushered unceremoniously out of the shop, the door closing behind them with a wet squelch. Two hours later when they returned, the old witch was good to her word. The wands were thicker than the Ollivander wands, though there was definitely a lot more work that had gone into them.

Orianna's was a yew and Thestral tail hair wand, like her original. It was shorter than her original, though at fourteen inches, it was hardly compact by any stretch of imagination. Elegant gold filigree depicting rose thorns wound its way up the wand, leaving hardly any part of the wood exposed. The moment that she touched it, all of them felt the temperature of the air around them drop several degrees; a small miniature blizzard whipped up around her, covering the shop floor with a fine sheen of frost.

Zoe's alternate wand turned out to be of walnut and dragon heartstring, and exactly one foot long. Shining silver decorated hers in floral patterns around the handle, though no further than that. Touching hers caused fragrant rose petals to shoot out of its tip like water would from a fountain; Zoe whooped and cheered in amusement as it did so – much to the wandmaker's chagrin, as the vast majority of the petals ended up scattered all over her ledgers.

Hawthorn and dittany stalk turned out to be the best match for Aveline. It was exceptionally long; at eighteen inches, she had doubts about whether to call it a very short staff or a long wand. Regardless, holding on to it caused a pulse of soothing bluish-white mist to burst forth from the wand's tip.

"Definitely pure," snorted the witch, "Well, you got your wands, and you short-changed an old woman. Hope you're proud o' yourselves. Now go on, scram. I got another wand to make for an idiot that broke his wand while de-gnoming his garden,"

* * *

That evening, Amanda was down in the basement with her chemistry equipment again. She had left Lucille to entertain her three daughters for Christmas Eve, while she completed her preparations for the night. "So many experiments, so little time," she muttered to herself as she placed a bunch of dittany into a repurposed food processor. A few pulses later, and the herbs had been reduced to a bluish-green slurry that glowed slightly. Pressing a button on the voice recorder on her workbench, she said in a flat voice, "Amanda R. Flynn, Genetics Research Division. December twenty-fourth, ninety-one. Distillation of...alchemical reagents. Reagent base...unknown scientific name, common name, dittany. Amount...three hundred and fifty millilitres of mixed liquids and solids, plus thirty millilitres of pure ethanol. Attempting distillation at eighty-five degrees Centigrade, with a seventy-nine degree second stage,"

She switched off the recorder and gently scraped the dittany slurry into the glass retort in front of her. Just as she flicked on the gas burner under the retort, she heard the creak of the trapdoor opening. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her that Aveline was climbing down the ladder.

"Aveline. What are you doing down here?" Amanda asked her green-ribboned daughter. "Does Lucille not have enough things to entertain you with?"

Aveline shook her head.

"...Are you bored?"

Aveline shook her head again.

"Then why are you down here, Aveline?"

"I want to help," she said, touching her index fingers together uncertainly. "Ori and Zoe are messing around with magic upstairs. They're having a lot of fun with their wands, but...it doesn't feel right to do that. Mum Lucille said that you spent a lot of money on our new wands. Like, a big part of what dad – I mean, Phineas Black – left us. This isn't going to hurt you later, is it, mum...?"

Amanda pursed her lips, wondering how she should answer. To tell the truth, most of Phineas' gold had been spent already through purchasing her vast stocks of potions ingredients. The new wands had drained it some more, leaving only a few hundred Galleons in the vault. It didn't help that the goblins set the exchange rate between non-magical currency and magical currency at rather extortionate rates. A single Galleon was worth approximately fifteen pounds according to them. The government allowance allotted to her and Lucille, while generous, didn't exactly let them refill the vault's contents very quickly.

Truth be told, it might well hurt them in the future. Especially if her daughters' supplies continued to rise in cost. Feeding her daughters wasn't cheap either, and Hogwarts' tuition and boarding fees had nearly caused Lucille to faint. To make matters worse, Adams had informed them that they would not be able to expect an increase in their allowance at all.

"We will manage," Amanda sighed, putting on a stoic face. The girls needed to be able to focus on their education. She would find a way. Lucille still worked as a medical doctor at the local hospital to boost their earnings; and even in the worst possible case, she could take out a loan. "Aveline, come here,"

Slowly, the girl approached her. Amanda put her arms around her daughter, gently patting her on the back. "You're my girl. If anything happens to you, I...I would rather not think about it. Spending nearly two thousand pounds on a wand that will serve you far better than your old one would be worth every penny. Think of it as my Christmas gift to you,"

"...Thanks, mum. It's the best Christmas gift ever,"

"Now, would you like to see what I was working on?" Amanda said, breaking off the hug and indicating the retort that was bubbling merrily away. The two walked over towards it; Aveline stared blankly at it, not quite understanding what she was looking at. "Do you recognise this herb?"

"No?"

"It is dittany. Used in its unrefined form, it can heal even severe gashes in seconds. You can chop the herb finely and dab it on, or squeeze its juices out onto the wound. Do you see the blue gas that is rising from the boiling mixture? That is not water. That is the refined Essence of Dittany. A jacket of water around this glass neck here-" she indicated a jacket around the swan-like neck of the glass retort, which had water flowing inside it, "-makes sure that the gas is cooled back down again, and it flows as a liquid to this beaker on the other side. Then, to get rid of the alcohol that I used to extract the essence, I heat the liquid up again so that the alcohol boils away, but the Essence of Dittany remains behind,"

"Oooh. Okay!" Aveline said, nodding vigorously. She stooped down so that she could look at the gathering Essence closely. "Madam Pomfrey, the school healer, used some on Susan when she fell from a broomstick and cut her leg. How come hers is yellow, while yours is light blue?"

"That would be because as effective as magic is, it seems that magic has stagnated in fifteenth century technology when it comes to potionmaking. Or as I really should call it, magic-augmented chemistry," answered Amanda. "That book on herbs shows you how to prepare the so-called Essence of Dittany. Pounding it in a mortar and pestle and then running it through a fine cheesecloth is hardly sanitary, nor efficient. There would be much wasted Essence still left in the plant, and if you had any other plants mixed in with the Dittany to begin with, you would have their Essences as well,"

"I think I get it! So the stuff that Madam Pomfrey has is...dirty?"

"A rough way of saying it, but yes. It might still work, but depending on what was mixed with the herbs, it might be dangerous at worst, or it might not work at all. Even having too much water in the resulting mix could greatly reduce its effectiveness. How is your hand, Aveline?"

"It's mostly healed, but there's still a line," she said, unwrapping the bandages around her left hand to show Amanda. There was indeed a thin white line still present where her enhanced healing rate had not gotten to work yet, running all the way across her palm.

"Well, let us see if this works, shall we?" Amanda said, smiling as she picked up a pipette and sucked up a small amount of the refined essence. She dribbled a single minuscule droplet on her daughter's scar, barely half the size of a small pea. The scar immediately started to fade away, vanishing within seconds. "It seems that this experiment is a success, wouldn't you agree?"

"M-hm!" Aveline replied happily. She flexed her fingers and poked at where the scar was. "It doesn't even itch, like when Madam Pomfrey had to fix up my fingers after an accident in Potions,"

Amanda's face fell. "What accident? You never told me of an accident in Potions!?"

"I—uh...I might have accidentally cut myself using a knife while cutting herbs. It was so blunt that I couldn't cut the monkshood root. I—err-kind of had to put force into it," Aveline said sheepishly. "It was a small cut. Honest!"

Amanda made a mental note to herself to give her girls – and probably their closest friends – a set of sharp scalpels each. A dull knife used to prepare potion ingredients? Not on her watch!

* * *

A/N:

Thus begins a new chapter in potioncrafting! The three girls have obtained illegal traceless wands to allow them to practice magic at home, negating the advantage that pure-blood and half-blood students have over their muggleborn peers (if they were of an academic enough bent to study through holidays). Gifts purchased for their friends, and ready to tackle a new term in Hogwarts!

NecroJake: Potentially second year for interfering with canon. First year is still mostly Harry; they still have no reason to follow him as such, and Hermione in this story has not made up with Ron. Depending on the topic being tackled, we might be seeing things from Zoe's, Orianna's, or Aveline's perspectives; it really depends on what angle needs to be shown. As for Harry's home life, probably after they see some hard evidence of Dursleys' abuse; but even that would likely trigger a certain old goat's interference.

Dragon Man 180: Yeah, the thing is that Harry's not exactly a 'friend' per se. More like an acquaintance of Zoe's, and Aveline is just so soft-hearted that she would let anyone that looks like a kicked puppy hang around her. Add the fact that Hermione's actually their friend and she hates Ron (who always hangs around Harry), and it's going to be very difficult for Harry to even stick around them. At least until Ron gets kicked away or makes up with Hermione. As for why they should care about Malfoy says, it's just as Lord Greengrass hints. Malfoy Senior is very well connected and can make their lives extremely difficult, especially as they are both muggleborn and not very well off.

Edit 1 (27/10/17): Fixed a typo where Aveline's wand was described as 18 feet instead of 18 inches. "Swish and flick!" *demolishes classroom*


	12. The Ice Queens' Gambit

Zoe stared out of the window in Transfiguration, half unaware of what Professor McGonagall was saying. She thought about the things that Fred Weasley was telling her about in the common room earlier. How to levitate Dungbombs into unsuspecting students' bags and boots. How to put a weak Sticking Charm to a water bucket above doorways, so that it would drop water on students that passed underneath. How to put a Softening Charm on a staircase, so that anyone stepping on it would slide all the way down as the rungs wobbled and jiggled before finally giving way. The applications of Charms were far more practical than Transfiguration.

 _Who cares if you turned a matchstick into a needle, anyway? Or a rat into a snuffbox? What's the point of turning a table to a chair?_ Zoe thought idly to herself.

"Miss Flynn! Pay attention!" barked Professor McGonagall, snapping Zoe out of her daze. "You would do well to be more studious, Miss Flynn. Transfiguration is a core subject in Hogwarts. Failing the final exam at the end of this year will mean that you need to repeat first year again. The same goes for all of you!"

"Yes, Professor," sighed Zoe. She waved her wand and poked at the little silver blob in front of her that was once a pinecone. She was meant to transform it into a Christmas ornament, but that had become a bit of a failure. The colour and the material was fine, but for some reason all she could picture was a fuzzy amorphous blob. It also didn't help that her mother had taken away their traceless wands before going to Hogwarts, saying that they were extremely illegal for underaged witches and wizards.

Oh, how she missed that wand. Her original wand simply didn't feel the same. Simply holding that one filled her with an awesome rush of power. It didn't feel like simply a warm stick of wood in her hands, a tool to work with, an instrument to cast magic with. No, that new wand felt like a missing part of herself. An extension of her body and mind. The one in her hands felt sluggish and weak, refusing to channel as much magic as she wanted to. And it frustrated her to no end.

A quick glance across the room at their Hufflepuff counterparts showed that Aveline was also having similar troubles as she did. She was still trying her best to transfigure things, but it seemed that at least her wand was at least putting up less of a resistance than her own. Her pine cone was golden with patches of silver, and it had turned somewhat rounded, but one could still see scales all over it.

Things did not improve for either of them as the exams drew ever closer. Snape still hated her – and the rest of the Gryffindors too – and refused to give them any more than barely passing grades for even perfect potions. The only thing that stopped Snape from doing so to either Hermione or herself was the fact that they would always partner up with Tracey, Daphne or Orianna, and he could not overtly give an Outstanding to one of them and an Acceptable to the other for the same potion. Instead, he would criticise them continuously and award points for the smallest things to his favoured Slytherins in an effort to get a rise out of them.

Which worked once on Zoe and landed her in a week of detentions for talking back to him. A series of detentions involving gutting horned slugs and plucking porcupine quills from ornery, unwilling creatures, and scraping cauldrons with caked-on filth clean. Needless to say, she bore a rather vicious vendetta against the head of Slytherin house after that event. She raised a complaint regarding his behaviour to Professor McGonagall, only to be informed that she would take it to the Headmaster.

And then nothing. It was as though the headmaster did not care about just how badly the Potions Professor was abusing his authority to favour his own house. It even extended to the way punishments were handed in the corridors between classes and on weekends. One time, she had seen him take away a book on Quidditch from Harry while he was walking on the grounds, citing that library books were not to be taken out of the library. Never mind that it was actually the youngest Weasley's tattered copy of a four-month-old magazine, and that it was not even a library book at all. Another time, he had simply walked past Malfoy and his brutes heckle a tiny Hufflepuff girl to tears without so much as batting an eye.

She had to wonder. Just how did this man even get a position to teach children?

Regardless, there were strange events happening all around her. She overheard Orianna speaking to their mother about that man that Hermione was searching information on – Flamel – only for her mother to abruptly stop and practically demand where she had gotten the name from. Hermione had withdrawn more and more after the Christmas holidays, to the point where she would spend most of her free time in the library and had even skipped out on their daily morning exercise sessions. In fact, it had taken Zoe almost a week to give her Christmas present in person, and they lived in the same dorm!

Even stranger was the fact that Hermione was somehow hanging around Harry and the resident glutton of Gryffindor, Ronald Weasley. Before the Christmas holidays, the two refused to speak with each other; but now, the brunette was willing to assist the boy with his homework and revision.

"'Mione, why are you helping Ron? I thought you couldn't stand to be around him?" Zoe asked Hermione one night, just as they were about to slip into their beds.

"Oh, I haven't told you, have I?" she replied, "Well, he came up to me on Christmas day and apologised. Why should I say no, if he really meant what he said?"

Zoe raised an eyebrow questioningly. "That's a load of rubbish. You said before that you wouldn't ever forgive him, 'Mione. He's the reason why you – well, _we_ – were in the girls' bathroom on Halloween. He's been picking on you since the start of the year! You're just going to forgive him for nearly getting us killed? Just like that?"

She looked somewhat conflicted for a moment, but eventually her expression settled on a beatific smile with half-glazed eyes. An expression that Zoe had never thought possible on the sharp and intelligent young witch. "Every person deserves a second chance. Ron deserves one too, don't you think? I mean, even Professor Dumbledore told me so. And he's always right,"

That was strange. Zoe knew that Hermione had a terrible habit of following teachers' words to the letter, but to accept any advice blindly without questioning the merit of said advice? Something was amiss.

"And why aren't you coming with us on our morning exercises any more? I remember you said that you felt a lot better after about a month of doing them,"

This time, Hermione hesitated before slowly letting out a strained answer. "I just—I just don't want to do them any more. Can we just sleep? We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,"

Yes. Something was definitely amiss.

* * *

Aveline was having a relatively good start of term. She enjoyed being around the Hufflepuffs. Almost all of them were warm and friendly, willing to assist her with whatever troubles that she had. It didn't take long before they noticed that she was incredibly, incredibly heavy - flinging Susan Bones off a beanbag and halfway across the common room when she decided to jump on the beanbag – but they simply laughed it off in good humour when she blushed a bright scarlet to match her hair. A few had their questions, of course, seeing as a normal eleven-year-old could hardly have the mass to do something like that. But as the Hufflepuffs took the concept of 'house is family' to heart, they obliged Aveline when she begged them to not ask her or her sisters about it.

From that point on, Aveline was quite resolved to help the other Hufflepuffs as best she could. The other houses tended to view Hufflepuffs as either dim-witted, naive and foolish or even boring. That simply meant that while the Hufflepuffs took care of each other and usually got along well with students of other houses, they tended to get picked on relentlessly by those that did not. Usually it was small things like name-calling and Tripping Jinxes, but occasionally it extended to slightly more harmful hexes and minor curses. Nothing that couldn't be stopped by travelling in groups, of course, seeing as there was strength in numbers.

Sometimes, however, travelling in a group wasn't possible. And that was exactly what had happened to Aveline on one evening after dinner. She had meant to find Orianna to give her back a Potions textbook she had borrowed, but both Susan and Hannah Abbott were in the library to revise for their upcoming exams. Which left only herself to approach the Slytherin common room, only to run into three people that she really did not wish to run into.

Draco Malfoy, and his two brutish cronies.

"Look here! What do we have?" drawled Malfoy. "A lost Hufflepuff, all alone! Too stupid to find your way back to the Hufflepuff basement, Flynn?"

"Malfoy. Go away," Aveline said, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Go away? I don't see why I should go away. Do either of you two?" he asked his two cronies, who answered with non-committal grunts. "This is our dungeon, Flynn. You don't get to tell us what to do,"

"That's the same with you, isn't it? This isn't the Slytherin dungeons, it's a corridor that leads to the Slytherin dungeons,"

"Of course it's part of our dungeons. You're just too dumb and blind to see it,"

Aveline was not blind, and she certainly wasn't dumb. She could see their hands inching closer and closer to their wands. A single movement, and any of them could hex, jinx or curse her. Not that she thought that they were capable of any serious curses, but still – it was better to be cautious than sorry. "Why didn't I get some wrist-mounted wand holders when we went to Diagon Alley?" she whined to herself under her breath. "Fine then, Malfoy. I was just here to give my sister's book back, but I guess you can explain to her why she hasn't got it back by tonight," she spoke loudly, hoping that Orianna was able to hear it from inside the Slytherin dungeons.

She backed away a little at a time, keeping her eyes trained on the three. Seeing as the three made no move by the time she got to the corner of the tunnel, she turned about to walk away when-

"Flipendo!"

Something hit her in the back and she staggered forward, as if someone had just given her a strong shove. "Just where do you think you're going? We still haven't finished our conversation yet, _mudblood_ ," he sneered unpleasantly. "Come to think of it, seeing as you're so keen to help your sister get back to her study, why don't we start with something practical. Hmm...what was that spell that I read about in that little black book that Flint had? Oh yeah! _Stupefy_!"

A jet of red light shot out of Malfoy's wand, though this time Aveline stepped aside and let the spell splash harmlessly on the stone wall behind her. "Stop it!" she shouted, drawing her own wand. Another three bolts of red shot past her, one narrowly missing her ear. "What's wrong with you?!"

"Just showing a mudblood 'Puff her place in the wizarding world. You'll never be as good as us, and don't you forget it!"

She yelped as a stray spell hit the book in her hand and caused it to explode into scraps of loose parchment and leather. Realising that she could not simply dodge all their spells forever, she tried to transfigure a loose page in front of her to a solid slab of rock.

Only for the transfiguration attempt to fail. The floating sheet of parchment did turn to dull gray granite – but it did not change dimensions. As soon as a jet of red light struck, the thin sheet of rock simply burst into pieces and sprayed the girl with a hail of tiny rock pieces.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!?" roared the one voice that Aveline desperately wanted to hear.

"Silence, Flynn. I will handle this,"

And the one voice that she definitely did _not_ want to hear.

"Professor Snape, with all due respect-"

"No, Flynn. Mister Malfoy, would you care to explain what is happening here?"

"Certainly, Professor," answered the blond boy, in a smooth and respectful tone. "We were minding our business when the Hufflepuff Flynn attacked us from nowhere. We only defended ourselves,"

"That's a lie!" Aveline scoffed, outraged that they would suggest such a thing.

"Liar! My sister would not-"

"Silence, Flynn. Or must I remind you of how discipline works in our house?" Snape hissed. "Draco, you will return to the common room. The same with you, Misters Crabbe and Goyle,"

The silver-blond boy nodded once and left through the same door in the wall that Snape and Orianna had just come through. "Now, Miss Flynn, would you care to explain _why_ a Hufflepuff would be wandering near the Slytherin dormitories so close to curfew? Your dormitories are on the other side of the castle, if you have not realised that already,"

"I—well, I was going to return Orianna's potions textbook that I borrowed earlier," she said, looking forlornly at the scattered bits of parchment littering the cold and wet stone floor. "Sorry, sis. Malfoy blew it up with a spell,"

"Five points from Hufflepuff for a baseless accusation against another student, Miss Flynn," Snape said silkily, ignoring the indignation on Aveline's reddening face. Aveline looked helplessly at her sister, hoping that she would assist. Her shoulders slumped when her sister gave a curt shake of her head. "Now, unless you have something _truthful_ to add, I suggest that you move along,"

"If I may, Professor," asked Orianna, "I would like to have a word with her. In private,"

The professor turned up a hooked nose to her. "Fine. Just get back in the dormitories by curfew," he said, sweeping past the two of them.

As soon as Snape was out of earshot, Aveline looked at her sister. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking at any given time, as she wore a look of profound disinterest at any given time; though in this case, it was clear for anyone to see the cold fury burning inside her emerald eyes. "Sorry for your book, Ori. Malfoy shot it out of my hands,"

She replied curtly with, "All I need to know is whether you have done anything to provoke him,"

"Nothing at all! I was just here, minding my business while trying to get to you-"

"I told you to wait at the entrance hall, before the start of the dungeons, Aveline," snapped Orianna. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed in frustration. "Never mind the book. I can get another copy of that, and in the meantime, I can share with either Daphne or Tracey. In the future, do not come near the Slytherin dungeons,"

"Sis,"

"What would happen if I had not been there? Or if Professor Snape was not there?"

"Sis!"

"You could have been injured! Hexed! Jinxed!"

"SIS!" Aveline shouted, finally breaking Orianna's tirade. "I get it. You don't want me to get hurt. But I'm a big girl now. I can look after myself. And you're not my big sis. We're the same age,"

Orianna gaped a bit at her sister's outburst before she conceded Aveline's last point. "That...is true. But I cannot ignore what our mother has instructed myself to do. Your safety and Zoe's safety is my concern. And it is also my own concern, Aveline. I do not wish for you to get hurt if it can be helped,"

"What about when _you_ got injured, huh? After the troll?"

"That-"

"What, you're going to say that's different? No, that isn't any different, sis! Zoe was okay because she used a Cushioning Charm. And mum was right when she said that we shouldn't be doing 'uncontrolled testing'. If the troll hit just a bit harder, who knows what could have happened?"

Orianna fell silent. She couldn't form any proper retort to what Aveline had said. "Ori," she said slowly, wrapping her sister in a tight hug. "We're family. We look after each other. But you're you, and you're not our mum. Trust us a little more. We can look after ourselves. I mean, if you can, we can do it too, right?"

Aveline put on the brightest smile that she could muster as she pulled away. "I should get going. Sorry about the book again, sis,"

"That is...not your fault," Orianna replied, narrowing her eyes as she was reminded of what happened to her book. And what had nearly hit her sister. And all her notes that she had made during the last term. All gone. Destroyed. "Go back to your dormitory. I have a dispute to settle, and you should be back in Hufflepuff before curfew,"

* * *

"MALFOY!" roared Orianna as she strode back into the common room, her wand drawn. First and second year Slytherins scattered out of her path, unwilling to face the wrath of a girl who had supposedly butchered a mountain troll in a fight. It might also have to do with the fact that her wand was dropping little shards of black ice with every step.

"What's this about, Flynn?" Prefect Farley chuckled, grinning as she stood up from her couch. "Malfoy stole your cookie?"

"No. The little ferret threatened my sister and threw spells at her," spat Orianna.

"That's an inter-house dispute, Flynn, even if it does involve a family member. If you're going to sort it out, do it someplace else where we prefects can't see it," another prefect chimed in.

"My sister was carrying my personal potions textbook that she had borrowed from me. A book with notes and modifications on every potion we have brewed so far," snarled the irate girl. "That is an assault on _my_ personal property. And I demand satisfaction!"

"Satisfaction in bed?" sneered a prefect with an unpleasant pug-like face. "I doubt that you even defeated that troll anyway, kid. Move along before you embarrass yourself,"

Orianna narrowed her eyes and gave her wand a sharp jab. " _Glacius_ ," she muttered. A spike of ice shot up from the floor below the prefect between his legs, stopping right before it connected with his nethers. That was enough for the prefect to squeak and tumble backwards off his seat, clutching his jewels. "You will deny a right supposedly afforded to every member of our house?"

"Selwyn, shut up already. You'd probably lose a duel to her anyway, you squib. Hell, you can't even get a simple Shield Charm up," Farley laughed, "I'll say, Flynn, with nerve like that, I don't know how you ended up in Slytherin. You'd be perfect Gryffindork material, just saying. Got proof of what you're saying? And witnesses?"

She dropped the mangled remains of her book on the floor in front of her. "Professor Snape was there to see Malfoy casting spells at my sister,"

"Damn, that's a pretty dumb move, even for Malfoy. Fighting right under the nose of a teacher? He's lucky that it was Snape. Still, he knows our house rules, and he's not going to interfere. Just make sure that you remember the rules of what's acceptable, yeah? No maiming, no unforgivables,"

"I understand,"

"Good. Alright Selwyn, make yourself useful and drag the Malfoy brat's arse here. Rest of you, clear out of the middle and prep the duelling ring," hollered Farley, prompting the other prefect to stomp off to the boys' dormitories. "Oh, and no bets,"

That still didn't stop a bunch of grinning Slytherins from exchanging little pouches of coin. Not that Farley even remotely cared, it seemed, as she didn't make a single move to stop them. Eventually, Malfoy was frog-marched up from the boys' dormitories, protesting about the indignity of what he was undergoing. He froze as he realised that the common room had largely cleared out, leaving a duelling ring in the centre of it with a bunch of spectating students around it.

And Orianna on the other side. He summoned up his courage and sneered at her. "What's this, then? A mudblood in a duelling ring? Is this a sort of joke?"

"Add a grievous insult to the list of grievances," spat Orianna coldly. "I, Orianna Amanda Flynn, hereby challenge one Draco Malfoy to settle grievances in a trial by combat, overseen by-"

"Gemma Irene Farley," Prefect Farley said, nodding approvingly. "You've done your homework, girl. I like it,"

"The trial is to be held until one side deems that satisfaction is achieved. No injuries shall be permanent, and no forbidden magics are to be used. The accusations levelled by myself against Draco Malfoy are: the malicious destruction of private property, insults against herself and her family, and perjury in the presence of authority regarding these previous grievances,"

"I don't have to stand for this nonsense," blustered Malfoy, though his rapidly paling complexion betrayed his fear.

"In which case, you admit your guilt and you will offer reparations to the accusing party to whatever amount that she desires," growled Orianna with a vicious grin on her face. There was a thick layer of ice about her feet by now. "And it will be publicly known that the Heir of House Malfoy is a craven and a coward, and is without honour to desert a just and lawful duel, as prescribed by the ancient laws of the land,"

She could see Malfoy's eyes darting left and right. Fleeing was not an option, as then his public image would be utterly destroyed. Slowly, his persistent sneer returned to his face. A last ditch effort to put up some semblance of confidence. "Fine, Flynn! If you want to fight so much, let's go. Crabbe, you're my second,"

The trollish boy nodded dumbly and lumbered up to Malfoy's side. "Well, that's Malfoy's side settled. Who will be your second, if any, Flynn?"

Before Orianna could say 'none', a hand grasped her gently on the shoulder. "I, Daphne Persephone Greengrass, shall be her second," Daphne spoke up, her cold voice sounding clear above the undercurrent of intrigued murmurs that echoed through the Slytherin common room. Orianna gave the blonde girl an appreciative nod; one that was likewise returned.

"Very well. The combatants are determined. Take your places on opposite ends of the ring. The duel will commence on the count of ten,"

"Ten,"

"Nine,"

"Eight,"

"Seven,"

"Six,"

"Five,"

"Four,"

"Three,"

"Two-"

"STUPEFY!" Draco yelled out, whipping out his wand and firing a poorly-aimed Stunner. The bolt of red shot high and impacted the ceiling, bursting on impact and sending bits of stone flying.

"Honourless coward!" snarled Orianna. She jabbed her wand at a nearby table, transfiguring it into an inch-thick shield of solid ice as tall as she was. "Daphne, behind me!"

With a grunt and heave, she raised the shield and held her wand to the side of the shield, so that only her right arm was sticking out. Daphne had wisely taken cover behind the veritable wall of protection in front of her, protecting Orianna's left. "Glacius!" she shouted, sending a ball of frost and ice careening towards Malfoy. The boy dived out of the way, though his oafish second was not so quick. The ball struck him and exploded into a glimmering mist about his ankles, freezing rapidly and rooting him to the ground.

"Glacius!" Daphne shouted, casting another ice conjuration spell at the fallen Crabbe. This time, the boy was entombed in solid ice from his neck down, and his wand clattered to the floor in surrender.

"What now, Malfoy? Submit!"

"Bow down to a mudblood and a blood traitor? Never! Impedimenta! Stupefy! Flipendo! Flipendo!"

Spells bounced off Orianna's shield as she advanced towards Malfoy. Daphne kept up a steady stream of spellfire from behind Orianna, though her accuracy was somewhat reduced by the sheer rate at which she was flinging balls of ice and snow. Malfoy, however, was putting up quite a fight while dodging the torrent of projectiles flung his way. A Stunner, another Stunner, a Knockback Jinx, an Immobilisation Jinx – and yet another Stunner - the boy's lack of imagination was starting to grate on Orianna's nerves. The moment that the redhead closed to within arm's reach of him, she let out a roar and suddenly charged with her shield up, slamming the shield into the blond's face with a satisfying crack. Malfoy crumpled to the ground, clutching his profusely bleeding nose.

"Oooh, that's got to hurt," cackled Farley.

But Orianna was far from finished. She lifted up her shield again and let it drop, this time on Malfoy's wand arm. He squealed as the heavy weight landed, crushing all feeling out of his arm. "Stop. Stop!" he wailed, letting his wand clatter harmlessly on the floor. "I give! I give!"

Orianna stood back, letting the shield ease up off Malfoy's arm. The boy was whimpering in pain and crawling on all fours; a pitiful sight, considering that this boy was supposedly the heir of one of the richest, most powerful Houses in Wizarding Britain. "Well?" Orianna snapped, turning to address the Slytherins. "What now? Should I end it? Has he learned his lesson?"

Some of the Slytherins gave uncertain, mute nods. Farley shook her head with a sadistic grin, while her fellow prefect looked with pity on Malfoy as he gave his nod. Most, however, remained silent and still. With quite a few more people agreeing that Malfoy had quite enough, and very few that wanted her to continue, Orianna lifted up her shield and let it melt to nothingness. However, she kept her boot on his back, pressing him flat against the floor.

"Daphne. I believe you have another dispute to settle with this little piece of dirt under my boot?"

"Indeed I do," she said, smirking. "Let it be known that Heiress Greengrass has considered Heir Malfoy's offer of betrothal, and finds him lacking in manly virtues. The very fact that Heiress Greengrass has defeated Heir Malfoy in a just and lawful duel demonstrates that he is incapable of protecting his lady adequately, should she be so inclined to wed him. Therefore, he is unfit to take the role of her husband,"

"Very good. Well, Prefect Farley, I believe that concludes our disputes with Malfoy. And Malfoy, as compensation for the destruction of my textbook, I demand a brand-new copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,_ "

"Ha! All that just for a destroyed two-Galleon textbook? Merlin, kid, you're something else. I would have thought he burned your house down or something,"

"Indeed. This is just punishment for destroying one of my personal belongings. I will not be so lenient next time, Malfoy. A single errant word from you, and next time...my boot might find itself in a place that is _much_ less comfortable than your back. I will expect that book to be in my possession in one week's time. You will not like to know what the punishment for failure will entail,"

"Still, watch yourself. Remember the warning I've given you at the start of your year. Beware the swarm of vipers,"

After nodding her acknowledgement to the still grinning Prefect, Orianna turned away from the whimpering forms of Malfoy and Crabbe. Tracey was smirking widely as she skipped out of the crowd and ushered them into the girls' dormitories for some peace and quiet. "Awesome! Now we know that they're not going to bother us any time soon," she cheerfully giggled, "Now, how about we get some sleep? You two look like you need a rest,"

* * *

By the following morning, news of Malfoy's humiliation and the judicial duel had spread widely across the school. Gryffindors did not know what to make of it, though many of them were just happy enough to know that there was trouble in the snakepit. Hufflepuffs, knowing of the reason behind the duel, gave respectful nods to Orianna for defending the honour of one of their own; for even if Aveline was her sister, she was still a Hufflepuff. Ravenclaws simply stood back and observed indifferently, for power plays in other houses mattered little to them.

Slytherins, particularly younger ones, found great fear in the display of power in their common room. These were two first years with frighteningly strong control over ice conjuration and transfiguration. One that was the Heiress of a Most Ancient and Noble House, and a muggleborn girl that was rumoured to be under her protection. Older ones, however, looked on with interest, wondering if this was a development that they should report back to the heads of their families.

Their head of house, however, ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to punish the girls, particularly the muggleborn, for humiliating his godson. However, he could not due to the fact that the prefects inside Slytherin had reported no wrongdoing; which meant that he could not punish them, even if he wanted to. He did, however, report the _rumours_ of their actions to a certain all-controlling headmaster.

And the old man's response was a long, loud sigh, lamenting why it was that the children could not simply learn to _forgive_.

* * *

A/N:

The chess pieces are on the board, and now the chessmasters are set to play. The White King has moved his pawns, but the Black King has yet to move.

Pyro Hawk21: Canonically, the Pounds-To-Galleons exchange rate is actually 4 pounds to a galleon. However, given the values of some things that are supposedly 'expensive' or 'high value' in later books, I find this highly irrational. For example, the Triwizard Tournament - a tournament which supposedly has a very high risk of death - only rewards its winner with a paltry sum of 1000 Galleons (4000 pounds). Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, a store in a prime location in Diagon Alley, apparently only needed a deposit of at most 1000 Galleons to get a loan approved by Gringotts for start-up funds. Assuming a 10 percent deposit, this makes the shop worth 10000 Galleons, or 40000 pounds. Compared to the value of houses and commercial properties in London in that same time period, I would think that this value should be around four times higher than what is indicated in the books at the very least. The correction has been made to the previous chapter as well, so there shouldn't be a discrepancy in the future.

Dragon Man 180: Traditionalists gonna...tradition-ate? I'm not even sure how to go about that. But needless to say, I think the old-time wizards and witches would simply refuse to see the light of merging the two together.

And yes, the lack of safety in Potions is incredible. A dungeon with no ventilation. Open fires on floors, cauldrons that can be knocked over, blunt knives for preparation, the list goes on. Dragonhide gloves might be tough, but certainly not sterile - and may even contribute to cross-contamination when handling several different ingredients in a row. Potions ingredients cabinets also contain toxic, explosive or otherwise dangerous materials, not even under lock and key. It might be explainable by stasis charms, but those really reactive or hazardous materials should only be distributed by the teacher. Actually, _all_ the materials should be distributed by the teacher or lab prep assistant. No reason to let the students get into the storeroom to begin with.


	13. Shattered Shackles

To say that Lucius Malfoy was displeased with his son would be the understatement of the year. No, he was certainly _not_ displeased with his son; he was _furious_. Tormenting muggles and muggleborns had its place among the pureblood elite, as tradition dictated that muggle-baiting was truly a noble pastime to pursue in the past. But to be caught in the act by a teacher and the targeted muggle's sister? The one that was in Slytherin, no less? His son was far too careless! Did he not know that his family's reputation needed to be upheld? He had spent thousands upon thousands of Galleons donating to those worthless charities to clear their family name, only for the boy to drag it back through the mud!

Then to heap folly upon folly, the boy had not rectified the issue immediately with the Slytherin muggleborn. No, instead he had allowed that girl to declare a judicial duel in the old ways by not offering peace and reparations. Lucius had no illusions about his son's lack of talent in magic. The half-yearly report that he had received from the Hogwarts professors other than Severus had been less than flattering. That in itself had been shameful enough, but to be defeated in a duel by a muggleborn girl and the Heiress of House Greengrass, in full view of the rest of Slytherin? In full view of the other Heirs and Heiresses of many of the major Houses in Wizarding Britain?

The boy's reputation had been well and utterly destroyed. Poor academic results could be adjusted by private tuition during the summer and winter holidays and could be masked by bravado, but a defeat in a duel was not so easily swept aside. Doubly so when it was done in such a way that it would quickly become common knowledge. Already, several of the betrothal request letters that had sent for the hand of high-class Heiresses had been returned with scathing comments regarding Draco's supposed inability to defend himself.

An implication that Draco was somehow unable to defend himself, let alone their daughters. A particularly biting one from Lady Greengrass had even suggested that such a weak boy could not possibly father a strong child, magically or physically!

Lucius had no illusions about the fact that it will take him many months of work to repair his son's damaged reputation. But if there was something that the muggleborn Slytherin didn't know, it was the reason why so many families feared crossing House Malfoy.

A Malfoy never left a slight go unpunished. Whether in a week, a month, a year, five years, a decade – they would have their revenge. For now, the filth could have their short-lived victory.

* * *

"Are you kidding me?" Zoe gasped loudly, as she walked past the house point hourglasses in the hall before breakfast. Potter's successive Quidditch victories over the other houses had left Gryffindor well and truly ahead of the others by quite a significant margin. Yet somehow, there were scarcely ten rubies left inside the Gryffindor hourglass. "How...what?"

Aveline, ever curious about what her sister was talking about, sidled over to her side. "Hi Zoe, what are you—wow, what happened to Gryffindor?"

"It's like we lost several hundred points overnight!" cried Zoe. Several other students who were early risers had also started to filter in, and had also begun to gawk at the ridiculously empty Gryffindor hourglass. Well, all except the Slytherins, who smirked unpleasantly as they walked past. "Ori! What's going on? Did the snakes say anything?"

"You can blame Potter," groused Orianna, pushing Zoe away from her. "He was caught smuggling a baby dragon to the Astronomy tower. Malfoy was crowing all about it last night, as loud as you please. We barely got any sleep,"

Silence fell over the group as they all – bystanders included – tried to comprehend what Orianna had just said. "I'm sorry, _what_?" a Ravenclaw third-year blurted out intelligently.

"I said that Potter was caught smuggling a baby dragon to the Astronomy tower last night," she repeated.

"Alleged, Miss Flynn," corrected the crisp, curt voice of Professor McGonagall. "I assure you that I did not find any trace of the baby dragon the Mister Malfoy alleged was in Mister Potter's possession,"

"So how did we lose a couple of hundred points overnight then?" demanded Zoe. Noticing the frown on Professor McGonagall's face, she hastily added, "Professor,"

"In case it may have slipped your notice, Miss Zoe Flynn, the Astronomy Tower is off-limits to students while they do not have classes. And most certainly so during curfew. To have four students out of bed during the night hours is unthinkable," replied Professor McGonagall tersely. Her lips were drawn into a line; such was her irritation. "Three of them were my own Gryffindors! Such blatant disregard for rules simply cannot be tolerated. Now, if that is all, you should all have breakfast if you have not done so already,"

* * *

It didn't take long before the Gryffindors turned on Harry. And much as Zoe hated to admit it, she found herself unable to accept the boy's daft plan to remove the dragon that was supposedly in his possession on that night. The top of the Astronomy Tower? Why could they not simply arrange for it to be taken away in the middle of the open lawn between Hagrid's hut and the Herbology greenhouses?

She found herself wanting to prank him continuously for the rest of the year for such a harebrained scheme. Worse yet, he had somehow roped along Ron and Hermione into his little misadventure. Ron she could understand; he was likely that boy's only good friend, aside from perhaps Dean Thomas or Seamus Finnigan, But to convince Hermione to break rules that severely, even if to aid Hogwarts' rather friendly resident giant? That she refused to believe.

"Hermione," she said sternly, channelling as much Orianna as she could into her voice. "We need to talk,"

"Sorry, can it wait?" Hermione said absent-mindedly, not even looking up from her homework. "I'm kind of busy right now,"

"It can wait. We need to talk. Now," insisted Zoe, grabbing the brunette's shoulders and turning her around.

There it was again. The tell-tale glazed-over look in her eyes. That blank expression. Her mouth gawked for a little bit, before she shook herself back to face her homework without even acknowledging Zoe's existence. As if she didn't exist at all.

"What is wrong with you, 'Mione?" she snarled loudly. It was a good thing that the common room was mostly deserted in the early evening, with most students still loitering about the Great Hall; Hermione fell out of her chair with a startled squeak. "You weren't like this before the holidays. You hung out with me, with Ori and Ivy and the other girls. Now you don't even talk to us, or even look at us. Hell, you can't even look at _me_!"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you!" she snapped back, "Why are you screaming at me suddenly like that?"

"Because you're acting strangely, and you're not letting us talk to you about it!"

"Just because I have new friends doesn't mean I'm going mad, Zoe. I just-"

"Just what? You don't want to hang around us any more because you think that Potter is cool? Do you even remember what Weasley said to you when you broke down on Halloween? All the times that he's bullied you, spoken behind your back in earshot? And you hang out with _him_ now, instead of us?"

A glimmer of recognition passed through Hermione's eyes before it was shut down again by that ever-persistent fogginess that clouded them every time Zoe reminded her of their friendship. "I can choose who I want to hang out with, Zoe. Everyone deserves forgiveness, and Ron's truly sorry for what he did before,"

"My butt he is! Look, 'Mione. The 'Mione I knew from before Christmas wouldn't break a rule if her life depended on it. The stunt you pulled yesterday? What on Earth were you thinking, getting dragged along to take a dragon up to the Astronomy Tower at night?!"

What happened next caught Zoe by surprise. She saw the girl's eyes clear up again – then misting up – and then clearing up once more, before she let out an unearthly scream of pain and started to clutch her head while shivering uncontrollably. A pulse of magic burst out from Hermione, knocking Zoe over and shattering every bit of glass in the room. By the time Zoe stumbled back to her feet, the girl was knocked out cold, blood trickling from her nostrils.

"Well, I guess she just blew up," muttered Zoe, "I should take her to Madam Pomfrey,"

Down in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was far less than pleased when she saw Hermione slung over Zoe's shoulder. "Miss Flynn! That is not how you handle an injured student!" she blustered, scooting over to Zoe's side and levitating Hermione to the nearest bed. Without missing a beat, the school's resident mediwitch waved her wand and cast an array of diagnostic spells, causing quite a wide array of colours to burst out over Hermione's head. She hummed and tutted with every spell cast; at one point, she even pulled an unmistakably disgusted face when a black mist burst out of her wand.

"Now, if you would explain what has exactly happened to Miss Granger, it would be appreciated," Madam Pomfrey asked, keeping her face as straight as was possible for a furious mediwitch.

"Well, I was trying to check up on a _friend_ of mine that hid away since Christmas, and was behaving quite strangely lately," Zoe said, thumbing in the direction of Hermione, "The Hermione that I knew from before Christmas would never willingly break a rule, but as you can see from the state of the Gryffindor hourglass in the entrance hall, she's really gone off on a limb this time. She kept looking dazed every time I reminded her of how she _used_ to be, and how much she hated that Weasley boy in our year. Every time I tried to push the issue, her eyes would glaze over like some people do in Professor Binns' classes – and then today, she just screamed like a banshee and...well, blew up half the Gryffindor common room before knocking herself out,"

"Knocking herself out after blowing up half the Gryffindor common room? Do you mean that she had an explosive discharge of magic?"

"Yeah, I guess that's one way of seeing it. She let out this wave of magic that laid me out flat on my bum and broke every bit of glass in the room. Then after that, she was out cold and...well, I took her down here. What's wrong with her, Madam Pomfrey?"

Madam Pomfrey looked around before casting a privacy charm over all three of them and conjuring a screen around Hermione's bed. "There is nothing wrong with her _now,_ as she is unconscious from magical exhaustion. What is the problem is the mixture of repulsion, compulsion and loyalty potions in her blood,"

"Alright, so I've read about those three potions," Zoe muttered in disgust. "Who would want to – never mind, I'd rather not know. Will she be alright?"

"Physically, she is perfectly healthy. Mentally, however, she will be a bit of a disjointed mess until I can purge all the potions out of her system,"

"How long would that be?"

"Approximately a week. In the meantime, I will put her under a Draught of Living Death to ensure that no further harm will come to her mind while I run the purging course on her,"

A week. The old Hermione would kill her if she realised that she had missed an entire week of classes. But at least if what Madam Pomfrey said was true, and Hermione had been poisoned by a cocktail of potions, at least they would have their friend back. An unpleasant thought then crossed her mind; what if she were to be poisoned again after she had been cured? As vexing as the bookworm sometimes could be, she was still their friend. And that outcome was unacceptable.

"Maybe Daphy could help with this," she whispered under her breath, deciding to go and seek out the Slytherin girl.

* * *

After breaking the news of what had happened to Hermione to her friends, Zoe wondered if telling the truth was sometimes a better prank than telling lies. Never before had she seen Tracey so livid, or Aveline so disgusted and outraged. Yet Daphne and Orianna simply looked thoughtful, seemingly less concerned about the fact that their friend had been poisoned for what must have been weeks on end.

"So how do we stop her from having this happen again?" Zoe asked to none of them in particular. "And before you say anything, Tracey, no, starving Hermione isn't an answer,"

"Well, if she were born into a Most Ancient and Noble House, like House Greengrass, she would have one of these rings," Daphne muttered, showing to them an ornate silvery ring with a single emerald the size of a small quail's egg. Even in the dappled light under the tree that they were sitting under, they all could see the thousands of tiny runes engraved into its surface, each radiating with power.

"Oooh, shiny," Aveline gasped. She shifted closer to Daphne and admired the glittering ring. "Could we get one of these for her?"

"If you have about twenty-five thousand Galleons sitting in a vault, sure," grumbled Tracey, who stared enviously at the ring.

"What?! Twenty-five _thousand_ Galleons!" exclaimed the three Flynn triplets, sitting up bolt upright. Aveline in particular blanched and backed off, having thought of it as nothing more than a fancy ring.

"Yep. Twenty-five thousand Galleons, or about that. That's the Heir Ring of House Greengrass, isn't it, Daphy? Enchanted to protect against mind magic of any kind, detects poisons?"

"That would be correct, Tracey. And the price paid for a new ring with the same enchantments is indeed about twenty-five thousand Galleons. I think that it is safe to say that buying her one of these is not an option,"

"Daphne, what's a Heir Ring for anyway? And why do you have one?" asked Aveline.

"It shows that she's next in line to inherit the entire House Greengrass estate. And seeing as her family's one of the old and rich Sacred Twenty-Eight families, she has one for her own protection. You know, so slimy gits like Malfoy won't try to put a compulsion on her to try and marry into her money,"

Aveline looked positively ill at the thought and gently squeezed Daphne's hand in sympathy. "That sounds really gross. Who - why would anyone want to do that?"

Daphne gave a bitter chuckle in response. "More than you would have thought, Aveline. Some have tried to put compulsions and potions on me; none have succeeded. The entire Greengrass estate sits at tens of millions of Galleons, and I can assure you that some men are either ambitious, greedy or stupid enough to try and put compulsions on myself or my father to try and...convince us to part with our wealth, one way or another. Needless to say, attempting to do so is a capital crime, and those that have tried have been thrown through the Veil after fairly short trials,"

"Yup. And I'm still waiting for Malfoy to try his hand at it. Merlin knows you're looking for any excuse to get rid of him, aren't you, Daphy?"

"Hmph. Were it that easy to be rid of the pest, his father would be in Azkaban by now. I will simply have to settle for painting him as a male unworthy of any female attention," sniffed Daphne imperiously. "Still, we are getting away from the initial topic of how to help our friend Hermione. You are now all aware of one way of protecting your minds from mind magic, which is through use of heavily enchanted pieces of jewellery. These are far too expensive to be practical for everyone, and they take at least two years to engrave and infuse with magic. You said that Hermione was poisoned by potions, did you not, Zoe? If that is the case, perhaps we could try another way. You are, after all, aware of the easiest way to poison someone already,"

"What, you think that I'd actually go around poisoning people? Get real, Daphy, that's not what pranks are about," scoffed Zoe.

"Yet the method of delivery for that style of prank is exactly the same," replied the blonde dryly. "You put something in their drink, or their food, by Switching Spell or otherwise. I think I could teach you all the Poison-Revealing Charm. _Veneno Revelio!_ "

A faint mist of silver pulsed out from the tip of Daphne's wand, hovering in place for a moment before vanishing in a flash of white light.

"It will not tell you what poison is there, but at least you will know _not_ to eat or drink what glows red. If instead you were to see a flash of white light, you would know that the food or drink is safe to eat,"

It took the better part of the week for the others to learn how to cast the spell to an acceptable level. Zoe had a nearly instinctive grasp on the spell; she had cast it nearly perfectly after the first two attempts. Aveline, however, had very nearly given up on it. Her best attempts only produced a barely visible puff of silver mist. In fact, she had been driven nearly to tears after Daphne had stormed out of one of their practice sessions in frustration at the redheaded girl's naivety – and only after that did she manage to get a far better result.

By Friday, they received a message from Madam Pomfrey that Hermione was finally awake again, and that she was looking for them. The mediwitch had helpfully thrown up privacy wards around Hermione's hospital bed large enough for all of them to fit in, but gave them a warning to be quiet regardless.

"Hiya Hermione!" cried Aveline happily, throwing her arms around the bushy haired brunette and squeezing the wind out of her. "So glad that you're back with us again!"

"Oof—Aveline, get off me! I can't breathe!" she wheezed. Aveline blushed and let her go. "I really don't think I could ever get used to that. Anyway, I—oh, is everyone here?"

"Everyone that matters, yes," Orianna spoke, clasping her hands behind her back. "Zoe, Aveline, Tracey and Daphne – and of course, myself. You have a lot of explaining to do, Hermione,"

"Yes, I suppose I do," Hermione muttered in embarrassment. "To think that someone would actually put potions in my food and drink! I hope I did not do anything too embarrassing with—with Ron and Harry around!"

"Aside from losing Gryffindor two hundred and fifty points between the three of you? No, I cannot say you've done anything too embarrassing, Hermione," said Daphne with a frown on her face. "No. What is more concerning is that you had been potioned to reject our friendship and seek out that of the Boy-Who-Lived and the youngest Weasley,"

"They're not really all that bad," Hermione said quickly, though she clamped her hand over her mouth as soon as those words had left it.

"I will assume that is just the after-effects of the potions speaking, and not you. Not ideal, but it will do,"

"What do you mean, Daphne?"

"I will be blunt here, Hermione. With the sheer number of potions that you had been dosed with, I am surprised that whoever did this did not just Imperius you to do as they would like. You were, to put it quite bluntly, a puppet that was set to dance around Potter and Weasley. Who by, and for what reason, we do not know," she said calmly. "Madam Pomfrey has removed the potions from your blood, but that does not mean that you will be immune to them in the future. In the future, do try to be more careful with your food and drink. I will teach you how to cast the Poison-Revealing Charm, like I have to our friends in the coming few days,"

"Poison-Revealing Charm? That spell exists?" Hermione asked warily. Daphne simply chuckled and nodded her head.

"Yes, and it will be a necessity as long as we have not uncovered who had potioned you in the first place. For now, until you have learned the charm, you need to sit next to me. My ring-" she showed Hermione her Heir Ring, "-will let me know if any of your food is poisoned. Do not eat anything that has not been checked, and do not drink anything that has not been checked,"

"That seems a little excessive, don't you think?" she mumbled. Her eyes clouded over faintly, nearly imperceptibly. "Do I really need to learn this?"

"Perhaps. If you would prefer to be Weasley's homework slave for the rest of your time in Hogwarts, it would save me a lot of effort," Daphne said, shrugging as though the muggleborn girl in front of her was beneath her notice. If anyone had been paying close attention, however, one would have noticed her eyes had narrowed dangerously into slits for the briefest of moments.

"Daphne!" cried out Aveline, shocked. "She's our friend! You can't just say things like that to her!"

"I will say it how it is, Aveline. When there are potions involved, it is better to be safe than sorry. I, for one, would prefer to not be in the company of someone whose mind might not be entirely theirs," Daphne said curtly. "Why do you think I asked for new goblets at mealtimes throughout the year? By my last count, someone had tried to potion my drinks at least fifty times so far. I will only help those who will help themselves. Are you going to prove no better than Weasley, Hermione? Waiting for friends to help you, instead of bettering yourself?"

"Don't you even compare me to him!" she said hotly, clenching her fists around her bedsheets. "He's lazy, he's stupid, and he won't—he won't even do his homework until he's—he's seen my—answers,"

"Now there's that fire that I was looking for. Now are you going to learn this spell and use it to make sure you aren't going to be potioned again, or are you going to stay Potter's and Weasley's pet for the rest of your time in Hogwarts?"

The very thought of sharing answers with someone that had no right to have them finally broke whatever resistance Hermione had. She nodded vehemently, her eyes full of determination. "I'll learn," she ground out, seemingly with great effort. A small pulse of magic burst out of her; smaller than that which had thrown the Gryffindor common room into disarray, but was enough to send smaller things off her bedside table. "I'll learn, and I'll be better than the rest of you,"

Daphne merely gave her a crooked smile and the barest of nods in acknowledgement. "Good. I look forward to it. I will leave you to rest for now. Oh, and by the way; you have only one week left until the exams,"

Hermione went as white as a sheet and all but bolted from her bed. Only to be brought back by an irate Madam Pomfrey, who also ushered the girls out of the hospital wing for 'distressing her patient'. Once they were outside, however, Zoe burst into laughter. "Oh, wow. Did you see 'Mione's face?" she chortled, "You'd think that someone had lit her bum on fire!"

* * *

The girls eventually settled back into their daily rhythm of training and study, without Ron and Harry in the mix. Every meal and every drink that was served to them they checked with the Poison-Revealing Charm, and thankfully all of them remained entirely clean to the end of the term. Ron had sulked quite a bit when he realised that his cheat-sheet of a friend had stopped giving him answers to every bit of homework that was assigned, and he had been downright furious with her when she refused to help him revise for the exams. Which, if Hermione could be honest, was simply another way of saying 'give me your answers'.

"Go back to the slimy snakes then! I don't need you anyway!" he shouted after her as she left the Gryffindor common room for a disused classroom on the second floor, where the girls had agreed to meet.

Not that she even needed any further encouragement to leave him be. Between his uncouth table manners, his incredible slothfulness and his utter lack of respect for anyone that was a Slytherin, she wondered how exactly did he get invited into Hogwarts. Surely, she thought to herself, the 'finest magical academic institution in all of Great Britain' would have to select its students properly. But as she thought back about the two brutes that always flanked Malfoy, she wrote off that idea as another wishful thought.

At least her current circle of friends were helping her achieve as she should. Their exam results proved to be quite a cause for celebration. Hermione topped the year with straight O's in every subject she took. Yes, even Potions, which Snape had grudgingly given her an O for a completely flawless Shrinking Solution in the exam.

Orianna had proven to be a prodigy in Transfiguration, but had fallen flat in Herbology with a barely passing Acceptable; her attempt at transplanting a Puffapod had caused the plant to blow up in her hands, scattering Puffapod seeds all over the greenhouse and covering everything in colourful blossoms. Both Aveline and Zoe, on the other hand, struggled to complete their Transfiguration exams in time. Aveline compensated for the near-failure with exceptional marks in Potions, where even Professor Snape had to concede that her work was better than some of his Slytherins; Zoe, on the other hand, simply laughed and shrugged, saying that if she had passed, that was good enough.

"That is certainly not good enough. Barely passing marks across every subject, Zoe?" grumbled Orianna irritably. "You do know that mother is not going to be pleased by this report, correct?"

"Oh, lighten up, Ori. It's not like this year is _that_ important, anyway. Say, 'Mione, what's got into you? Why do you look so...annoyed?"

"Well, _maybe_ I want to see you do better!" she snapped, "Acceptables for all subjects? That's not good enough, is it? I heard that a lot of jobs in the magical world want at least three O's,"

"Eh, I'll do better when it actually matters," replied Zoe nonchalantly. "Anyway, now that the exams are done and we have our marks, what do you girls feel like doing? Exploding Snap, anyone?"

"Uh, I'll pass on that," Tracey replied, grimacing. "I don't really feel like going to Madam Pomfrey with broken fingers. I still didn't know someone could slap a card that hard. Hermione, you look like you've got an idea,"

Everyone turned to face the muggleborn witch. "Well," she said slowly, "I have to say that I'm somewhat concerned about what Harry is planning,"

"This again? I thought we have already gotten those potions out of your system, Hermione," groaned Orianna.

"It's not about that!" she quickly said, "I mean, it's about what I know about their plans. How much do you two know about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone?"

Daphne shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "I have asked Daphne about it before," Orianna replied, "And she has said that Flamel was an ally of the Greengrasses, but asked me to not inquire any further. As for what this Philosopher's Stone is, I have to say that I have no idea what it is. All I know is that the libraries do not have any information on it whatsoever. Do you know something more, Hermione?"

"Well, I—we think that Flamel's got the Philosopher's Stone in this school,"

If a pin dropped to the floor at that moment, one could have heard it loud and clear. "Excuse me?" Daphne yelled incredulously, causing everyone to flinch in surprise at the blonde's sudden outburst. "You—oh, _Merlin_ , how do you—ugh. Never mind. Hermione, you will explain how you arrived to that conclusion. Now,"

"Well, supposedly Harry was with Hagrid at Gringotts, and Hagrid got a small package from a high-security vault. Apparently, Hagrid was supposed to bring it back to Hogwarts on Professor Dumbledore's orders,"

"Right. And you did not bother to question whether Harry saw the Stone, or what the package even looked like?"

Hermione fell silent. "No," she answered slowly, flushing in embarrassment. "I didn't. I should have. But that's not all. Hagrid knows about Flamel,"

"And so do many of the older wizards and witches in our society," Daphne shot back. "Especially those before the first Blood War. Which, if you are not aware, was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in power; and in which time period Hagrid was most certainly already an adult. Have you ever thought of searching some truly _old_ books about his name, Hermione?"

"I've searched everywhere for it. Latest developments in the _Great Wizarding Inventions of the Twentieth Century_ , the journals in _Potioneering Today_ ; even some articles from-"

"And what do you know of the Philosopher's Stone?"

"I—well, I know that it turns lead into gold, and it makes an elixir that extends life? But that's just a myth, isn't it?"

Daphne shook her head and chuckled darkly. "You could not be more wrong, Hermione. And you could not be poking at a more dangerous secret than that. Yes, the Stone exists. Yes, it does turn lead to gold, and yes, it does produce an elixir that reverses aging. Why do you think that you could not find any articles on Lord Flamel in recent publications?"

"I don't know, but...wait, did you just call him Lord Flamel?"

"Indeed I did. And if I were to be more proper about his title of address, it would be Lord Flamel, Duke of Penthievre, first of his name. Unlike many of the other so-called Lords of the wizarding world, Lord Flamel actually bears a title of nobility granted by the King of France, when France was still a kingdom. Dare I ask you how old you think he is, Hermione?"

"He can't possibly be that old," Hermione said weakly. She became less sure as Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Could he?"

"Hermione," Daphne replied with a sigh, "Lord Flamel is over _six hundred_ years old. The Stone produces an elixir which _reverses aging_. Which means that the man, except if he were to die in an accident or a fight, is effectively immortal. Now that that's out of the way, I don't think that I need to explain any further about _why_ the Stone cannot possibly be here, or in Gringotts Britain, do I?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth like a fish, much to Zoe's amusement. "Careful, 'Mione, you might catch a fly if you keep doing that," she sniggered, earning her a cold glare from both Daphne and Orianna. "What? I thought I'd lighten things up a bit. It's getting stuffy in here,"

"Which is not necessary at the moment. Hermione needs to understand that some things are better left alone," Daphne said. "Let us continue. Although the existence of the Philosopher's Stone is no big secret among witches and wizards, there is a good reason why Lord Flamel considers very few people to be his friends and allies. Think about it for a moment. He has a Stone which produces as much wealth as he desires, and extends his life for as long as he would like. Could you say that you could hold the Stone in your hands for a moment, and not be tempted to use it for your own gain?"

"No," Hermione said defeatedly.

"Exactly. And if you were the owner of the Stone, would you give it to anyone else for safekeeping? No? I didn't think so. I cannot reveal any more than this, but let me assure you that over the holidays, my father mentioned that Lord Flamel has not set foot in Britain for the last thirty years,"

"Which means...oh. Oh," Hermione muttered, realising the implications of what Daphne had just said. "That means the Stone can't possibly be the thing that was taken from Gringotts by Hagrid. Flamel would need the Stone to keep living, wouldn't he?"

"That would be correct. And that is Lord Flamel to you, Hermione. As it is for all of us. Now, let the matter rest. The Stone is not your concern, and it shouldn't be anyone else's concern. In fact, it would be better for everyone if we were to forget that it even exists,"

"Why?" queried Hermione curiously. "That's not right. Everyone should have free access to all knowledge,"

"Let us simply say that those who chose to pursue Lord Flamel's stone apparently vanished in rather mysterious ways," muttered Daphne darkly. "In all seriousness, Hermione. Drop the questions. There are some secrets that are better left well enough alone, and the sooner you understand this in the Wizarding World, the better,"

* * *

A/N:

Welp. I'm back with more! The first year is drawing to a close, and with it the first book. There will be an interlude for the holidays, followed by the events that happen in second year.

Fmvm: Well, indirectly, yes.

KentLogin: Ice spells aren't necessarily a Frozen reference, but just a reflection of their personalities. It's said that certain magic works better with certain personalities. Graphene bones would be much more durable, yes, but the weight of the girls would be a great advantage in hand-to-hand fighting. After all, it's much harder to knock over someone that's 250 pounds versus someone that's only about 80 pounds. And yes, the broken furniture is always going to be a part of their lives :P Metal chairs forever!

PascalDragon: Scientific-accuracy potions would probably have some unintended consequences. We'll be seeing more of those later. Snakepit for now is tamed, if only because the first years simply lack knowledge of any truly harmful spells (aside from maybe Transfiguration, if the user has a...vivid imagination). Slytherins do keep grudges, though. As far as Harry getting a better relationship with the Flynn sisters, Tracey and Daphne, we'll have to see, won't we? It would not do for the Golden Boy to be seen in the presence of 'slimy snakes', after all.

chaosrin: Yep, it would be a major concern considering that Snape now knows (and is a spy for both Dumbledore and Voldemort). Either side knowing about the strengths of the genetically modified children would prove quite dangerous for them and their mothers.


	14. Through the Trapdoor (anyway)

The last days of the school term were sultry and warm, a pleasant change from the previous week of horribly sticky and hot weather.

On the edge of the lake, beneath a weeping willow which cast a wide shadow under its boughs, six girls lay sprawled out on the grass. Orianna was leaning against the tree while slowly nodding off to sleep, with Tracey leaning against her left and snoring softly. On her right, Zoe was laid out on the grass with her arms as wide apart as though she owned the whole lawn. Aveline rested her head on her sister, using her stomach as a pillow, while Hermione had chosen to take a nap on Zoe's other side. Even Daphne had somehow fallen asleep in the cool shade of the tree, a storybook threatening to fall out of her limp hands.

The crunch of breaking twigs behind them caused Orianna's eyes to shoot wide open. She snatched up her wand and twisted around, fully prepared to throw a ball of ice at whoever had come up behind them. To her surprise, a raven-haired boy with a telltale thunderbolt scar met her gaze, holding up his hands in surrender. Not that Orianna could trust him, given the company that he always kept around him.

"Oi! Leave him alone, you filthy snake!"

"Weasley. How charming," Orianna said dryly, rolling her eyes and shifting her aim towards Ron. "Potter. Last I had checked, you would not speak to any Slytherin, yet...here you are, disturbing our afternoon nap. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to talk to Hermione," he replied, with far more civility than Orianna could have expected. "Can we not point our wands at each other while we're doing this? We don't mean any harm,"

"No. Perhaps you do not, but the same cannot be said for your friend," replied Orianna irritably. She felt Tracey shift a little and a pair of arms clung tightly to her leg, reminding her of what a wonderful day they had been having before the two Gryffindor boys had decided to come around and disturbed them. "As you can see, we are... _were_ enjoying our midday nap before you decided to come. State what you want, or leave us be,"

"Ron," Harry pleaded with his friend, "Could you lower your wand? We're not here to pick a fight with them. We need to talk to them,"

"But—Harry, they're snakes!"

"Ron, that's quite enough," Hermione spoke, finally stirring from her nap. She blushed slightly as she realised that she had been using Zoe's arm as a pillow, but brushed that aside as she spotted the sparking wand in his hand. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"We were just trying to talk to you, Hermione," Harry spoke quickly, pushing down Ron's wand. "About...well, _you-know-what_ that Fluffy is guarding,"

"What about it?"

"Well, we talked to Hagrid about how he got Norbert earlier. He said that he got his egg from a cloaked man in a card game at Hogsmeade. But that's not all, apparently he told the man how easy it was to get past Fluffy! We've got to get the Stone back before Snape does!"

Orianna could not help but roll her eyes. Did the foolish boy truly think that the real Philosopher's Stone was held in Hogwarts? If the real thing was present, she doubted that the security that would be protecting it would be so trivial to breach as to let a first-year student actually reach it. After all, why would someone bother moving something so precious from the security of a heavily-guarded bank to a place where it could be so easily stolen?

"And what makes you think that the Stone is so poorly guarded that you feel the need to steal it yourself?" Orianna snorted in amusement. "Would it be any safer in your trunk, compared to what it would be protected with originally? Look, Potter. It would be best to just forget about it. Let the professors worry about what happens in the school. Why would you make this your business anyway?"

A flash of anger came upon his emerald green eyes. "Because Voldemort will come back if I don't make sure Snape doesn't get the Stone! He's with Voldemort, I'm sure of it. And haven't you heard about what it's like when he was trying to take over? There won't _be_ a Hogwarts! He'd probably flatten it, or turn it into a school for Dark Arts! Do you think he'll leave your family alone-"

"Potter. That is quite enough," snapped Daphne, glaring in Harry's direction. "What makes you think that the real Stone is in the castle, anyway? Have you seen it in person?"

"No, but I saw Hagrid holding a small package from Gringotts. On official business from Dumbledore, on my first visit to Diagon Alley,"

"Which could be filled with anything. It could have just been a piece of enchanted jewelry, or a bag of precious gems. So I will ask again, Potter. Did you see the Stone?"

He flushed red and looked about ready to lash out again; but seeing the numerous wands now drawn and pointed in his and Ron's direction, he finally admitted, "No, I didn't,"

"Then you have no proof that the Stone is in Hogwarts at all, aside from your unfounded suspicions. Now, if you are done, I think I speak for all of us when I say that we would like to continue our nap. Leave us,"

"Come on, mate. Let's leave the snakes alone. We're getting nowhere," Ron muttered, dragging Harry away. He shot Hermione and Zoe a filthy look before he left with his dejected friend.

As soon as the two were out of earshot, Daphne sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Good riddance. Seriously, thinking that the _real_ Philosopher's Stone is in the castle? And behind protections so laughable that first-years even had a _chance_ of getting through? Truly, there is no weaker mind than that of a Gryffindor,"

"Hey!" Hermione protested. "That's not right. I had the highest marks in the year, remember?"

"And I think I now know just where to put my last packet of Ever-Burning Pepper Powder," Zoe added with a crooked grin on her face.

Daphne blanched and quickly corrected herself. "Fine! I will admit that not _all_ Gryffindors have weak minds,"

Orianna smirked in amusement. She remembered the three consecutive days that Daphne had spent hours in the Slytherin toilets while howling in anguish as she emptied her inflamed bowels again and again. Evidently, poison detection spells did not find the Pepper Powder as a poison. After all, it was technically food – if excessively spicy. What was worse was that even Madam Pomfrey was completely mystified by Daphne's supposed poisoning, as naturally she could not find any trace of even the weakest toxins in her, and therefore could not offer any relief other than pain-relieving potions.

"Much better," Zoe said, flopping down on the lawn again. "You can relax, Daphy. I was joking about that powder anyway. George said that he was going to pop some into Percy's food later tonight. He's got the rest of mine, so you're safe. Anyway, should we continue with our naps, girls? This weather is really making me sleepy,"

A round of murmured agreements came from the others, and soon they settled back into blissful sleep again. Only when Professor Sprout came across them in the late afternoon did they wake up, just in time to have a quick shower before dinner.

* * *

That night, thanks to the excitement of the end of the school year finally coming about, Zoe and Hermione both found themselves unable to sleep. They sat down together on Zoe's bed, chatting for hours on end about all the exciting magic that they had learned to use and all the things they had learned about the magical world. But all the talking finally had a toll on their throats, and they decided to head down to the bathrooms to get a quick drink.

"You know, I really wish they'd teach us how to conjure water," sighed Zoe as they stepped into the Gryffindor common room. It was nearly pitch black, with only the dying embers of the fireplace and narrow beams of moonlight providing them with light. "It'd save us from having to fumble our way to the bathrooms like this—hey, wait, did you see that?"

"What?"

"There," Zoe said, pointing at a dark shape that lay slumped on the ground. No longer caring about being caught out of bed after curfew, she whispered, "Lumos!"

A thin beam of light shot out of her wand and illuminated the rigid form of Neville Longbottom laid out on the stone floor. "Oh my God. Neville?!" she cried out, scooting over to the boy's side. Only his eyes could move; the rest of his body was as stiff as a board. "What happened to you?"

"It looks like a Body-Bind Curse," Hermione muttered, "Petrificus Totalus, wasn't it?"

Of course, there came no response from Neville. "'Mione, I don't think Neville can tell us that. You know, he's paralysed and all that. Wait, do you know how to counter it?"

Hermione pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "No," she said, "We should take him down to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey could probably do it for us. Or what about Professor McGonagall? She's probably closer. I mean, her room's on the sixth floor, wasn't it?"

"Good idea," Zoe replied. With a single sweep, she hoisted Neville over her shoulder. "Come on, 'Mione. Let's get Neville fixed up,"

To say that Professor McGonagall was unhappy about being woken up in the dead of night would be an understatement. The black-haired witch's mouth was as thin as a line as she answered their knocks on her private apartment's door, and her narrowed, bleary eyes promised a world of aching ears if they had woken her up for no reason. However, as soon as she saw Neville stiff as a board while slung over Zoe's shoulder, she immediately exclaimed, "Miss Granger, and Miss Flynn! Explain what has happened here,"

"We were about to get a drink of water from the girls' room when we found Neville on the floor like that, Professor. What was it that you thought it was, 'Mione? A...Body-Bind Curse?"

"That would be quite correct, Miss Granger. It is indeed that curse, and it is thankfully fairly easy to reverse," muttered Professor McGonagall. "Five points to Gryffindor apiece for rescuing a friend in need, Misses Granger and Flynn. When I find out who did this, they will be very sorry indeed. An attack in my house's own common room! Why, I never..."

A quick wave of Professor McGonagall's wand, and Zoe suddenly found herself with a not-stiff Neville over her shoulder, flailing and struggling to get out of her grip. "Wow, okay, Nev, I'll set you down. Geez, you don't have to kick me in the shin," she groaned, quickly dropping Neville off her and rubbing her shin where he had accidentally kicked her.

"Sorry, Zoe, but I felt like you were going to crack my ribs there," he apologised.

"Mister Longbottom. Are you feeling well enough? Have you been hexed or cursed other than the Body-Bind Curse that I have just removed?" Professor McGonagall cut in. "And who had done this to you in our house, may I ask?"

"I—uh, I'm fine, I think, Professor. I didn't get hit by anything else," the boy muttered, "Harry actually did this to me,"

"What?" Zoe blurted out, shocked. "Why would he do that? I thought that he was good friends with you,"

"Yeah. Well, I tried to stop him from sneaking out again by standing in front of the portrait hole. Ron tried to push me out of the way, I tried to fight back, and Harry ended up doing that to me when I wasn't looking,"

"And why, may I ask, was Mister Potter trying to sneak out of the dormitories at night? With Mister Weasley's help, as well?"

Neville shifted slightly on his feet. "I think he's trying to get to the forbidden corridor on the third floor, Professor. He was trying to say something about Voldemort returning with the help of some stone or another,"

"Great, he's still going on about the Philosopher's Stone," groaned the red-haired girl beside him. Professor McGonagall's jaw dropped in shock. "What? I didn't say anything that surprising, did I?"

"I won't ask about how you know about that...thing, Miss Flynn. But if you are telling the truth, which I think you are, you three; I believe that Misters Potter and Weasley might be in greater danger than they would be prepared for. Mister Longbottom, are you able to make your way to the Hospital Wing on your own?"

The round-faced boy nodded. "Good. Make your way there, please. And if Argus asks why you are out of bed at night, let him know that you have my permission to go to the Hospital Wing. As for you two girls, you are coming with me. We will need to check on Misters Potter and Weasley as quickly as we can, and all of the other teachers' quarters are on the other side of the castle. I trust that the two of you have your wands?"

They both nodded. "Excellent. Well, we should not waste any more time,"

The forbidden corridor's door was already ajar by the time they arrived. Inside was a gigantic three-headed dog that was soundly asleep in a corner, serenaded by a harp that was playing by itself. In the centre of the room was a gigantic wooden trapdoor. One that was already thrown wide open.

"That is certainly Rubeus' harp that he uses whenever he needs to clean out this room," Professor McGonagall said, eyeing the self-playing harp. "And if it was him, he certainly would not need to have the trapdoor open for any reason,"

She lit up the hole beneath the trapdoor with a quick _Lumos_. On one side, there was a barely-visible ladder that was bolted to the smooth stone walls; and at the bottom was the smouldering remains of some thorny, rambling vine. On seeing this, she frowned and conjured a silvery cat from the tip of her wand. "Go and find Severus and Pomona. Let them know that we have an emergency in the third floor corridor," she commanded the cat, which nodded and bolted out of the room faster than any cat should have been able to.

The first thing that Zoe noted as she landed on the squishy, burned-out remains of the plant at the bottom of the hole was that she had definitely seen this before in a Herbology class. "Isn't this Devil's Snare, 'Mione?" she asked, wondering if she wasn't seeing things.

"Indeed it is, Miss Flynn. And whoever had dealt with it has used far too much force," murmured Professor McGonagall. "Normally, the plant would simply retreat away from any source of heat and light, but whoever has gone past here has burned it to ash,"

The next room after the burned Devil's Snare held a multitude of flying, flapping golden things in the air. So many, in fact, that it looked as though the ceiling was obscured by a horde of golden birds. Only when one of the things flew past the two girls did they notice that they were actually keys with wings, each charmed to avoid capture. "Great. Do we actually need to fly after the right key or something, Professor?" groaned Zoe, spying a sealed door on the far side of the room. "I don't think that any school broom would be able to take my weight. I mean, I've basically had to sit out of Madam Hooch's flying classes because I ended up breaking three of them,"

The professor stared at Zoe as though she had grown two heads. "I won't comment on _how_ you managed to break brooms that can easily take two or more students without a problem, but yes, that is the case. Professor Flitwick has designed this defence to test any would-be attacker's agility,"

"Can't we just use the unlocking charm on the door, Professor?" offered Hermione.

"No, I'm afraid not. The doors are enchanted against all forms of magical tampering,"

Zoe pondered that statement for a bit. Realising that there was possibly a loophole, she smirked mischievously and asked, "But not against _physical_ tampering, right?" Her grin only widened as Professor McGonagall couldn't answer. "Awesome. Professor, could I have a big hammer please?"

"A hammer? Why would you want a hammer?" she asked, nonplussed by the seemingly random question. "The door is made of solid iron, you would not be able to break it down with a hammer,"

"No, no, I think you've what I'm trying to ask for all wrong. I want a hammer...the size of a troll's club,"

Though she still looked somewhat skeptical, Professor McGonagall obliged her. Taking a handkerchief that Hermione had offered her, she transfigured it into a gigantic hammer of black iron. Its head was the size of a small child, while its metal handle seemed to bend under its own weight; it crashed to the ground with a thunderous clang, cracking the marble floor. Zoe rubbed her hands together in glee; she grabbed the handle with both hands, crouching low before heaving and grunting.

"My word," Professor McGonagall gasped. The hammer slowly, inexorably rose from the floor, until Zoe finally managed to bring it up to her shoulder. "How—I don't understand, Miss Flynn. That hammer should have weighed nearly fifteen stone!"

"I can't exactly talk right now. This-thing-is-heavy!" she grunted, stomping towards the door. With a loud grunt, she whirled about and slammed the hammer into the heavy metal door. The metal screeched and groaned, warping and bending, but it held. A second swing to the lower half of the door caused several bolts and screws to fly off; the hinge shattered with a loud crack. And then a third, final swing to the top of the door finally struck it clean off its mountings, sending the metal door careening down the corridor on the other side in a shower of sparks. "Wow. I swear, I'm not going to be able to walk properly tomorrow. That thing's really heavy," she panted, falling over backwards, drenched in sweat.

"Heavy would not begin to describe that hammer, Miss Flynn," said Professor McGonagall. She shook her head before continuing on, transfiguring the hammer back into a handkerchief and handing it back to a stunned Hermione. "That...I can't even begin to describe what I had just seen. Were you using wandless magic to assist you with lifting that hammer?"

"That's a secret, Professor!" she replied impishly, "And no, before you even think about pulling a Harry on me, I'm not playing for Gryffindor as a Beater next year,"

"A pity. Any reason why, Miss Flynn? I'm sure that it would be possible to find an extra-heavy duty broomstick that could take your weight,"

"You probably could. But after falling off a broom in the sky and landing on dry ground for the third time? I think I'd say that I belong on the ground. Plus, Madam Pomfrey probably would hate me if I sent the guys on the other team all to her after the match,"

"Valid points, I suppose. Still, it was worth a try," she replied with a sigh. "Is that Mister Weasley on the ground, by the chess pieces?"

Indeed, as Professor McGonagall had said, there was Ron Weasley sprawled out on the gigantic chessboard in the room beyond the corridor. Numerous broken chess pieces both black and white lay scattered about him, as though a great battle had taken part between the two opposing sides. Yet as Professor McGonagall approached, neither the remaining white pieces nor the black pieces made a move to stop her.

"Stand aside," she commanded, and both sides dutifully bowed and cleared the board. She stooped over Ron and placed a hand on his neck. "Mister Weasley is still alive, if unconscious. Could the two of you take him back to Madam Pomfrey for treatment-"

Before Zoe could voice an objection to that order, however, a blood-curdling scream split the air. It came from the direction of the door beyond the chessboard. A voice deeper than that of a student's. "Was that...Professor Quirrell?" gasped Hermione, who recognised the voice first.

"I believe it was," Professor McGonagall said grimly. She raised her wand and ran forward, faster than either of the two girls thought possible for someone her age. "Go back to the castle, and take Mister Weasley with you. Do not follow me! If something has happened to Professor Quirrell, then it is likely that there would have been something truly dangerous and far beyond your abilities to fight,"

Zoe looked at the youngest Weasley with disgust. "Take _him_ back to the castle? I'd rather lug around seven bags of dragon dung all day long than do that," she muttered.

"But she's told us to do it, Zoe. Let's go,"

"Nope. Nuh-uh. No way. You do it,"

"Zoe," sighed Hermione, "I'll tell Orianna tomorrow if you're not going to help,"

"After Weasley called her a snake? I think she'd think that I did the right thing," scoffed Zoe. "But, you know, Professor Kitty might be on to something. I might like to do fun things, but I'm not stupid, and this is probably bigger than we can deal with. Let's go back up, 'Mione. We still haven't even gotten that drink that we were after to begin with,"

* * *

The following evening, by the time of the Leaving Feast, Potter had finally limped back to his usual space at the Gryffindor table. He had been out cold in the Hospital Wing for just under a day, and the Hogwarts rumour mill had worked overtime after several Professors have been spotted entering the third floor corridor, carrying out bits and pieces of what looked like a broken fancy mirror, a dead troll, and a giant pile of ash with pieces of charred thorn and vine in it. The notable absence of Professor Quirrell at the staff table also didn't escape the notice of the students, and neither did Harry's absence for most of the day.

Zoe and Hermione had thankfully managed to get back to their dormitories before anyone had noticed that they had gone with Professor McGonagall. That, however, did not stop the barrage of questions coming their way from the rest of the Gryffindors, as Neville had so graciously informed his dorm-mates of their late night excursion with Professor McGonagall. At least, however, he had the decency to look somewhat apologetic as the girls both glared daggers in his direction.

"Come on, really? Getting sick and dying by smelling too much garlic?" scoffed Tracey, "That's got to be the best thing I've heard yet, Ori,"

"I assure you, that is what the most common theory circulating in Ravenclaw appears to be," Orianna replied with a smirk. "Not that it is even close to the truth, I believe,"

Lowering her voice to a whisper, however, she added, "Unbelievably foolish, that Potter boy is. Did he learn nothing from speaking with us? The Stone could not possibly be real. And the more that I had heard about the supposed traps in the forbidden rooms, the more I believe that the entire thing was supposed to be a test for a student. Something supposedly so precious, protected by devices that even a first year could break past? If this Dark Lord was supposedly so powerful as to bring most of magical Britain to its knees, the protections would have been trivial for him to breach,"

"Yeah, it doesn't make sense, does it? What do you think, Daphy?"

Daphne gave an unladylike snort. "What do _I_ think? I think the entire affair is foolish. Potter is a fool for not realising that the Stone could not be the true Stone,"

She paused for a few moments before continuing on, a deep frown marring her face. "That said, I find that something is amiss here. Professor Dumbledore has fought against Dark Lords before, and he of all people must know just how powerful they can be. Father has told me stories of how the defensive wards of old magical manors had been broken by a single flick of his wand, and how the Dark Lord was able to fight against dozens of trained wizards and witches at a time, and still hold his ground. What reason would he have to set up such an elaborate series of traps, all of which could be broken by a first-year student with a bit of luck?"

"Uh...now that you mention it, Daphy, yeah, it does seem fishy. And why at Hogwarts? I mean, this is a school, right?"

"Last I checked, that was true, yes,"

"So why would someone put valuables here, instead of Gringotts? It doesn't add up,"

Orianna nodded slowly, eyeing the headmaster that was chortling merrily at a joke that Professor Flitwick was telling him. For the briefest of moments, she was certain that the friendly sparkle that was normally in his eyes seemed to be only present when his glasses were over them. "All are good points. If the headmaster truly did defeat dark lords before, it makes little sense for him to place such a supposedly valuable object under so little protection. Why would he do something like that? Whatever the reason, I would suggest that we all be wary about anything that man says or does. After all, a man that hides a secret that large is one that cannot be trusted,"

Daphne nodded in agreement, though Tracey hesitated. "But he seems so nice,"

"It could simply be a face that he puts up in public, Tracey," Daphne replied. "Remember that we, as heiresses of magical households, are instructed on how to behave. I doubt that Professor Dumbledore's parents would be so neglectful as to not teach him how to act properly when in public view,"

"Yeah, that's true, Daphy. I guess we should be careful around him, then. Who knows what else he's hiding,"

The three girls exchanged nods in agreement. "Anyway, let's get away from that topic. We're not going to be seeing him for a couple of months anyway! You girls see the hangings, right?" Tracey said brightly, pointing at the nearest green-and-silver banner that was decorating the wall. Dozens of other, similar banners also adorned the walls around the Great Hall. "Yep, that's right; Slytherin won the House Cup this year!"

"By how much?"

"Well, with Gryffindor getting smashed by Ravenclaw in the last Quidditch match...and a bit of help from Professor Snape taking points off other houses...we're leading by forty-six points," she said, grinning. "We're better than the rest of them!"

Orianna was about to counter that if Professor Snape wasn't actively knocking points off other houses, Slytherin wouldn't be ahead by such a large margin. Still, she held her tongue. It did not feel quite right for her to dampen the bright and sunny mood of her first friend in Hogwarts, especially on the last day of the school year. Her attention, however, shifted to Professor Dumbledore when he cleared his throat and stood up at the teacher's table.

"Another year gone!" he said cheerfully, "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than they were...you have a whole summer to get them nice and empty before next year starts,"

 _Not that Uncle Adams would let us get them nice and empty,_ Orianna thought wryly. The man had all but demanded a report at the start of their school year, and she was absolutely certain that he had not forgotten. Not that she would disappoint him, of course; though the same could not be said for her sisters at times.

"Now, as I understand, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus; In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points. In third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six, and Slytherin leads the way with four hundred and seventy-two,"

The Slytherin table erupted in jubilation. The normally reserved residents of the Snakepit cheered and stamped in celebration; and if the dejected faces of the Gryffindors were any indication, the eighth house cup award in a row had truly put a damper on their moods.

"Yes, yes...well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account,"

Daphne shared a look with Orianna. "Recent events?" the red-haired girl mouthed to the blonde, who could only raise an eyebrow questioningly.

"Ahem. I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see...yes..."

The old man cleared his throat again. "First, to Mister Ronald Weasley. For the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points,"

"Are you bloody serious? He..." Tracey hissed under her breath. The rest of her venomous comments were drowned out by the thunderous cheering of the Gryffindors. "Fifty points just for _playing chess_?!"

"Second, to Mister Harry Potter. For nerve and outstanding courage, remaining calm in the face of overwhelming pressure, I award sixty points,"

"That is hardly fair!" Daphne snarled, outraged. "Sixty points, for breaking into an out-of-bounds room?! For Merlin's sake, _really_?!"

"Third, to Misses Zoe Flynn and Hermione Granger. For assisting a fellow housemate in need, and helping a teacher in need of assistance, I award twenty-five points apiece,"

"Betrayed by our own friends! Oh. And your sister," sighed Tracey, though it was half-hearted. "We've still got the house cup, right? The Gryffs just tied us, and we got there first,"

Alas, it was not to be. Dumbledore raised his hand once more, and the deafening din from Gryffindor gradually quietened down. "There are many kinds of courage," he spoke, smiling, "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I, therefore, award ten points to Mister Neville Longbottom,"

"This is an outrage!" Daphne grumbled. The sentiment seemed to be echoed by all the Slytherins, who all looked sullen and dejected as the wall hangings all changed from silver-and-green to red-and-gold. Professor Snape, at the teachers' table, wore a most horrible forced smile as he shook Professor McGonagall's hand.

"Indeed. However, at the very least, our marks are unaffected by these house points," Orianna replied, shrugging as though nothing major had happened. "They are meaningless. Perhaps useful to give one's pride a boost, but otherwise useless,"

"You're all sunshine and rainbows, aren't you, Ori?" muttered Tracey, rolling her eyes. "The Gryffs are going to be absolutely terrible on the train back home,"

"Well, if they would be...I shall be glad to toss them out for all of us,"

* * *

The train journey back home was, thankfully, uneventful. The students' trunks were packed and ready to go when morning came, and by mid-morning, all of them were aboard the Hogwarts Express. The castle shrank into the horizon as the train gathered speed, and the wilderness gave way to familiar manicured fields and little towns. It was a strange reminder to Aveline and her sisters that they would be leaving the magical world for the mundane again.

"A Knut for your thoughts, Ivy?" Tracey said, plopping down on the seat beside her. "Why are you looking so gloomy? It's the holidays, there's no more studying!"

"Yeah, that's true, I guess," sighed Aveline, glancing over to Daphne and Hermione. "I'm so going to miss you all,"

"Oh, don't be like that, Ivy. You know you can just owl us, right? And send mail to Hermione normally, I guess,"

"That's true. Oh, how about this? You girls could come and stay over for the holidays! I'm sure that mum won't mind,"

"Aveline," warned Orianna, "Do not offer things like that before you have asked our mother,"

"Lighten up, Ori. Mum probably won't say no," Zoe chimed in, waving her hand lazily as she lounged on a seat. "Still, it's going to be weird, isn't it? All the fun times we've had in Hogwarts, and we're going to be back to straight, boring life in a perfectly normal house. Well, at least Aveline's got _someone_ to look after during the holidays. Harry lives in the house next door, right?"

"Last that I checked, yes, Potter was living with the Dursleys,"

That got Daphne's attention. "What?" she blurted out, shocked. "He is living...with whom?"

"The Dursleys. Our neighbours," Zoe said. Listing off the family members on her fingers, she added, "There's fat blob number one, Mister Dursley. Keeps bragging about his drill-making company, and his new car, and basically anything else that comes his way. Then there's fat blob number two, Dudley. Aveline, you threw him over the playground fence when he and his gang were bullying Harry, didn't you? A knight in shining armour for a...not-so-pretty prince? Aveline and Harry in a tree, K-I-S-S-"

"Shut up!" Aveline exclaimed, blushing beet red. "I-it's not like that!"

"You're too easy to bait, Ivy. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you later. I still have a Chocolate Frog, if you want it. Oh, and I didn't add any...special ingredients to it, by the way. Honest,"

"Check it anyway, Aveline," Daphne said, grimacing. "Anyway, please continue. I assume there are more of these Dursleys?"

"Well, yeah. Mrs. Dursley, the skinny stick that can't help but spy on everyone else in the neighbourhood. I think I might have sprayed her once or twice with a hose when I...ahem, _didn't_ see her there," Zoe sniggered, "That's all of them, I think. And of course, Harry, who seems to be doing most of the chores around the house. Cutting hedges, mowing the lawn, watering the garden, doing the washing, things like that. Oh, and he's Dudley's personal punching bag, but he's usually fast enough to get away from that fat blob. Guess that's how he got quick enough to play Quidditch,"

Seeing Tracey and Daphne's horrified looks, Zoe tilted her head in confusion. "What? Why are you all looking like that?"

"Merlin. It all makes sense now," muttered Daphne, slapping her forehead. "Why Potter insulted all of the other Heirs and Heiresses of other magical families by not properly introducing himself. Why he didn't know how to even greet us, or interact with us properly,"

"Wait, what? I'm missing something, aren't I?"

"Yes. Yes you are, Zoe," sighed Daphne. "Potter – or should I say, _Heir_ Potter, is the heir of another Most Ancient and Noble House. Have you wondered why so many of the Slytherin girls and boys despised him for apparently doing nothing? The way he acts, talks and dresses is an affront to us. We hold strongly to old Wizarding traditions, and yet, he behaves as though he were some muggleborn pauper with no proper manners or dress!"

"That's not his fault, right? And how come people in Slytherin don't mind Ori, then, if you guys are so big on tradition?"

"Partly because I have been instructing Orianna on proper etiquette, and partly because Orianna duelled Malfoy and beat him down to the ground,"

Zoe gawked at her sister and pretended to have a heart attack, clamping her hand over her heart dramatically. "Wow! So those rumours were actually true? Way to go, Ori! That ferret's been a pain in the butt for all of us,"

"I was merely ensuring that they knew what to expect for destroying my personal property and threatening my family," Orianna muttered, shrugging. "After all, that ferret, as you called him, did threaten Aveline and had even been casting hexes and jinxes at her,"

Daphne cleared her throat to get their attention again. "Anyway, as I was saying. If Potter was truly living like a slave in a Muggle household, then it explains much about his lack of knowledge about the Wizarding World. I doubt that he even knows the existence of Potter Manor, or of his true importance in magical Britain,"

"So what should we do?" Aveline asked, somewhat concerned about what she was hearing. If Harry truly was something more than just a simple boy living with his rather unappreciative relatives, then...who could have placed him there? And the bigger question was, _why_?

"As much as I dislike this option, there isn't much that I could do other than bring it to my father's attention. He could pull a few favours and find out why, but I doubt that he would do anything if it would not benefit him in some way," Daphne said. "Still, it is rather disturbing to hear that the sole heir of such an ancient and powerful family is to be subjected to such demeaning servitude,"

"No kidding," said Tracey slowly. "Heck, even my dad would probably get upset about it, and he's only the head of a minor Noble House,"

"Wouldn't he have told a teacher about what he's experiencing at home, then?" Hermione said, "Couldn't they do something about it?"

"Perhaps they could, yes. Do you know if he has done something like that, Hermione?"

The bushy-haired brunette thought for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I don't think he has. He's complained about his relatives a few times before to us, but I thought that he was just making things sound worse than they are,"

"In any case, we should not do anything more right now. I will inform my father about Potter's living conditions. Something is amiss here, and I have a suspicion that someone is deliberately keeping Potter in the dark regarding knowledge on the magical world's ways,"

The train ground to a halt at Platform Nine and Three Quarters a few minutes after one o'clock. Daphne and Tracey alighted first; Daphne gave curt nods to each of the Flynn girls, while Tracey wrapped them all in a tight bear hug before going with their respective parents. Hermione's father, looking quite out-of-place with his dental surgery jacket, had come to collect her. He and Lucille blinked and laughed at the absurdity of the situation as they recognised each other; he recalled her as the doctor from the hospital opposite his dental practice, while she knew him as the dentist in the tiny clinic across the road. Never in their wildest dreams did they think that the other had magical children!

"Oui, it eez a wondrous coincidence, eez it not?" Lucille chuckled, as the man doubled over in laughter. "All of our daughters are gifted with _magique_ , and yet we did not know of each other's magical daughters until now,"

"Oh, yes, yes indeed," he chortled. "What are the chances? Perhaps your daughters would like to come and visit little Hermione sometime in the holidays. Here is my phone number,"

"Merci. I shall try to make some time," Lucille said, taking the card that he had offered. "I must beg your pardon, Monsieur Granger, but we must leave soon. My partner eez waiting for me at home,"

"Ah. In that case, I've got to get Hermione home as well. Her mother is dying to see her after a year. Goodbye, Miss Laurent. Please, do feel free to call,"

"I shall. Au revoir, monsieur,"

As the Grangers left through the barriers at the end of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Lucille turned to face her three daughters. She gave each of them a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. "So, ma fille. An entire year at zis magical school? I'm sure zat you 'ave many stories to tell, and zings to show me,"

"Like you wouldn't believe, mum," Zoe said, her face split in a toothy grin.

* * *

A/N:

Yay, another chapter done. And that concludes first year. The next few chapters will be the interlude in between the first two books; i.e. the summer holidays. Or as much of a 'holiday' as one can be, when a certain general comes a-knocking...

StillKentLogin: Yup, weight is sometimes an advantage. Restraining someone is much easier when you're so heavy that they can't move you at all, and weapon recoil feels a lot less powerful when you're heavier. And lol, bezoar stones in the digestive system sounds like constipation waiting to happen. Why they just don't powder it and give metered doses is beyond me, but eh. Magic is apparently the solution and explanation to everything and the meaning of life. It's also good to hear that you're enjoying the story :D

BlakeDrake101: They know about the augmentations, Orianna knows of the reason why and has accepted it, but the other two don't know yet, thinking that their training is just something they do to keep fit and healthy. This, however, will change.

Dragon Man 180: Ron's a real jerk with an inferiority complex. It definitely wouldn't be past him to be accessory to Dumbledore's plans.

PascalDragon: We will see about the diary, won't we? And as for true friends, it'll be much easier once Harry realises his true position in the Wizarding World.


	15. II: Revelations

Number Three, Privet Drive. After being in a magical school for a year, Orianna had believed that returning to a mundane household would result in a constant state of boredom for her and her sisters.

Not quite so, evidently. It didn't take long before they realised that the basement laboratory had been somewhat upgraded since Christmas. Amanda had somehow crammed in a hydroponics set inside; a bright white sunlamp was shining on wide pots, each filled with dragon dung. In each one, numerous plants were thriving, their small silvery leaves somehow waving gently in the still air.

"Dittany," Amanda answered when Aveline had asked her what she was growing.

"Really? Wow, they look better than Professor Sprout's ones," Aveline commented, poking at one of the leaves. She yelped when Amanda batted her hand away with a rolled-up newspaper. "Ow! Okay, okay. I get it, don't touch the fragile plants,"

"Indeed. You would have learned this in your...Herbology classes, was it? A class that you did fairly well in, if I was not mistaken. Well done, Aveline,"

Her green-ribboned sister giggled and rubbed the back of her head, a blush tinting her cheeks a bright pink. "Oh, it wasn't too bad, mum,"

"I suppose it wouldn't be, as long as one was gentle with the plants. Well, all except the ones that require burning, freezing or beating up with a wooden bat, of course. Though why someone would want to grow a thorny shrub that seems to have little use is beyond me," Amanda commented, plucking a couple of misshapen leaves from a dittany plant. "Tell me something, Aveline. Do they grow all the plants in a single greenhouse in Hogwarts?"

"Yep. Well, there are four greenhouses, and they've got loads of different plants in them. We're only allowed in Greenhouse One,"

"And what is inside that greenhouse, might I ask?"

"Well, there's dittany in it, and there's some puffapods. Oh, and a couple of spiky bushes that always seem to be in the way,"

Her mother frowned. "All three of those apparently grow best in different climates, according to your textbook. Dittany grows in hot and dry climates, while puffapods do well in damp and cold places. Spiky bushes do not do well in either extreme. Yet for some reason, your Professor has decided to put them all in one place,"

"Oooh. So is that why you've got only dittany in this one, and...wait, are those mandrakes? Why are they all in glass jars?"

"Because it is safest to handle them in a sealed environment," Amanda muttered, grimacing. "I was somewhat skeptical about the safety instructions regarding their screams. Imagine my surprise when I tested the power of their screams by putting a rat with it and pulling it out with earmuffs on, and seeing the rat immediately fall over, dead! No, it is best to leave them there,"

"That makes sense, but...why the jars? Why not just put them in a room on their own?"

"Because I find the easiest way to handle them is to kill them before lifting them up. Subjecting them to hard vacuum kills them one hundred percent of the time with zero risk of exposure to their scream," replied Amanda matter-of-factly. "That's enough of Herbology, I think. Orianna, could you go upstairs and see if Uncle Adams is here yet? The man said that he would be here at twelve o'clock sharp,"

"Very well, mother,"

"Good. Now, Aveline, take a look at this distillation still. See the unrefined potion on the left hand side? Observe the reaction when I add three drops of-"

Orianna couldn't hear any more of what her mother was saying as she climbed out of the basement. She found Zoe lounging on the couch in the living room, browsing a brochure that she recognised as an order form for prank products from Gambol and Japes. Deciding that she didn't want to know what mischief that her sister was trying to get into next, she walked quickly past the living room and into the kitchen and dining room.

Just as she did so, she heard three sharp raps on the front door. "Please wait," she called out, approaching the door and looking through the peephole. "Oh. Uncle Adams. Let me unlock the door, sir,"

The grizzled man marched into the house, his permanent scowl not fading one bit as he slowly surveyed the room, as he always did on a visit. Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, he relaxed a little. "Look at you, growing up so quickly. You'll be a fine soldier yet, Orianna,"

"Thank you, sir," she replied, snapping off a quick salute.

"No need for that, silly lass. You ain't one of my grunts. Yet,"

"I might as well be. You have me taking my sisters for exercises every morning, just to make sure they are fit," she replied, keeping her face straight. Adams leaned in and glared into her eyes, so closely that their noses nearly touched. Orianna simply stood her ground, knowing that Adams despised weakness in all its forms. Eventually, Adams let out a short, sharp bark of laughter and backed off.

"You have quite some nerve, lass, talking to me like that. If you were one of the footsloggers in camp, I'd have sent you off for an extra round of physical training as punishment. Still, does your mother have the report that I had asked for?"

"Yes. It is written, and is ready for you to read," Orianna replied. "Mother is holding on to the reports in the basement. She also wishes to show you the results of some of her latest work,"

The general grinned widely. "Ah, that miracle juice that she's come up with?" he said, "Amazing stuff. Patched up several soldiers from the brink of death, they did. Fixes up cuts like some expert surgeon was on the job, in just seconds. Don't even need to look, or even know what you're looking at; just spray it and it works. Still, that's not what I'm here for. Not yet, anyway. If you remember, lass, I asked you to find out all you can about this magical world that you say is hidden somewhere in Britain. Before I even read the report, can you tell me that you've learned something about them?"

Orianna pursed her lips. "Perhaps it would be better to show you, sir. Some of the things we have learned are...rather difficult to describe with words,"

"Well, what are you waiting for, then?" he said, waving her off. "Show me,"

Orianna looked over her shoulders and out the windows. Nobody was there, but she didn't know how to detect anyone invisible. And the Dursley woman could possibly be looking over the fence without her knowing, as that woman usually did. "There are laws in the magical world against casting spells among non-magicals, sir. If you could head downstairs to mother's laboratory, I will be able to demonstrate without being seen,"

"Secrecy, eh? Well, I'll work with that. Dr. Flynn did mention something about this silly...what did she call it again...? Statute of Secrecy?"

Before long, Orianna found herself more or less ushered to the basement by the general. He took one quick look at the laboratory before he burst into derisive laughter. "Well now, Flynn! If I didn't know better, I would've thought you were trying to make some contraband in here. Making more of that medicine, are you?"

"Indeed, General Adams," she muttered, stepping back from a retort that let off a puff of bluish smoke.

"Nowhere near enough, woman. Step it up!"

"I would if I had more funding, general. As it stands, all I have to work with is this small hydroponics and chemistry lab!" Amanda snapped back angrily. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down. "Caring for my three daughters is also quite costly, even if Lucille is working elsewhere and providing additional funds. If you could channel some more in exchange for some more samples of the medicine, I should be able to make faster progress,"

He blinked incredulously. "Money? Is that the only problem?" he spoke slowly, his brows furrowing. "I haven't heard anything about you having money problems, Flynn,"

"Of course you haven't. Your adjutant just brushed my concerns off. His exact words were, I quote, 'money-grubbing whore',"

Aveline let out a small squeak and clamped her hands over her ears. "Sorry, Aveline. Run along now. I and Uncle Adams need to talk,"

"What about Ori?" she asked curiously, noticing that Orianna hadn't moved – or even been addressed.

"I want to talk to her myself," Adams said, "Go on, pipsqueak. Up the ladder. This is just between myself, your mother, and her,"

Aveline muttered something about it being unfair, but nevertheless complied and left the basement. "Right. So you wanted to show me something?" Adams grunted, nodding to Orianna.

"Yes. Mother, this wand is traceless, correct?" the black-ribboned girl asked, holding up her other wand.

"As far as I can tell, yes. But as you are well aware, I am not able to cast spells like you are. I suppose there is only one way to find out. Go ahead, cast something,"

Orianna chewed her lip in concentration. What could she show the general to impress upon him that they had learned valuable things from Hogwarts? "Glacius!" she intoned, giving her wand a sharp jab. A spear of ice burst out of her wand and shot across the room, shattering against the reinforced brickwork on the other side and dissolving into silvery mist. She could see a hole gouged into the brick about the size of her fist, and numerous cobweb cracks spreading from the hole. "That is far more powerful than it was at school," she whispered in awe, looking reverently at the wand.

"That was not a spell from the standard spellbook," Amanda commented, noting the hole in the wall.

"How did you know, mother?"

"Orianna, if you thought that I would sit idle while you learned new things, you would be greatly mistaken. Potioncrafting was not all that I have read. I have a spare copy of every one of your textbooks, if you have not noticed. Where did you get that spell?"

"A friend of mine taught me the spell. She did mention that it was a good spell to use in self-defence, as most magical defences do not protect against physical damage,"

"Kid, with something like that?" Adams murmured, running his fingers along the three-inch hole left behind in the wall. "That's probably enough to kill someone. Probably do some serious damage to vehicles, too. All from a stick..."

"Well, I can shape it into other things, too. Glacius!" Orianna said. This time, a ball of solid ice dropped out of the wand and onto the floor, where she scooped it up and passed it to her mother. "It really depends on what I want to create, but it is always something made out of magical ice,"

"Interesting. Make a barricade,"

"I don't know what it looks like, sir," she admitted, "But I did make a shield before when I challenged a boy to a duel—"

"You did _what_?!" Amanda said sharply, now glaring at Orianna. "What duel? You have not informed me of this, Orianna. Explain. Now,"

"One of my housemates, a...thoroughly unpleasant boy named Draco Malfoy, thought it amusing to pick on Aveline when she tried to return a textbook to me after dinner. A missed hex destroyed the book and very nearly hit Aveline. I saw fit to exact justice," Orianna replied calmly.

"And you did not attempt to find a teacher first?"

"No, mum. Slytherin – the house that I was sorted into – is...for a lack of better words, filled with blood bigotry. Many in it believe that muggleborn witches and wizards – that is, those born to non-magical parents – are inferior and should be hated because of what they are. That alone is bad enough, but each house has...traditions,"

Amanda frowned deeply. "Dare I ask what these 'traditions' are?"

"Slytherin is the house of those with ambition, drive and power. And to assist with making those qualities rise, the head of Slytherin has a hands-off policy with regards to conflicts inside the house. Anything short of permanently maiming, injuring or killing another student is permitted to resolve any arguments,"

"Absolutely barbaric," the geneticist muttered under her breath.

"I would agree as well, mother. It is good that Aveline had not been sorted into Slytherin as well. I would hate to see what the others would do to her," Orianna admitted, "It would be nice to have housemates who would look after each other, but sadly that is not the case. I believe that the others have stayed out of my way after that duel purely out of fear, but that may soon change as we learn more harmful and powerful spells in our second year,"

"Tell me that you have someone watching your six, girl," Adams demanded.

"Of course I have. The girl that has taught me the ice-conjuration spell is a...friend of mine in Slytherin, Daphne Greengrass. Despite being of a supposed 'pure-blooded' family, she seems to have no problems associating with others that are competent, pure-blooded or otherwise. Her other friend who is also my friend, Tracey Davis, is an outcast for being a 'half-blood'. She was born to a first-generation witch and a wizard of an older magical family, and faces much of the same problems that I do,"

"Well, at least there's that. It would be a real waste of resources to hear that you have been shot in the back and died,"

Orianna narrowed her eyes at Adams. What was he trying to say? That because she was created and not born naturally, she was somehow less of a person? If her mother's clenched fists were any indication, she wasn't the only one to be offended.

"Despite your opinion, sir, I can look after myself," she answered coolly. "Regardless, there is more to the magical world than it seems. They are hardly united, and I suspect something is not quite right. It's almost as though somebody is manipulating events behind the scenes,"

"Explain,"

Taking a deep breath, Orianna prepared to give her report. She informed them of how Hermione, the brightest Muggleborn witch of her age, had been a good friend of theirs before Christmas, even taking part in the early morning physical training sessions that the three sisters always did. Yet after Christmas, she had all but abandoned their friendship for no apparent reason, only to discover that she had been dosed with some form of mind-controlling substance sometime during the break.

"That is disturbing," Amanda murmured, cradling her chin in thought. "A substance that can potentially force someone to do something against their will. Truly insidious and despicable. Please tell me you have something to cure it?"

"Not yet. Madam Pomfrey, the school healer, can remove it from someone's blood once they've taken it, but it still has lingering after-effects for a while,"

"You are not compromised?" Adams asked.

"No. I do not even know _who_ did it, but I have a suspicion it was one of the staff members. The Headmaster himself, perhaps, given the things that Zoe said Hermione was uttering while under the effects of the potion,"

"That is worrying indeed. Is it possible to resist this...potion?"

"Supposedly, yes. Hermione did end up resisting it, but you would have to speak with Zoe for more details. In any event, there is another useful spell that Daphne taught me. Do you have any poisonous substances, mother?"

Amanda raised an eyebrow, but otherwise turned to her ingredient cupboard. A moment later, she returned with a sealed flask. "Under the fume extractor. And do not breathe any of the fumes," she ordered Orianna, placing the flask under a glass hood with a rather powerful fan above it. No sooner had she opened the flask than copious amounts of acrid white fumes began to pour out of it.

"Veneno Revelio," chanted Orianna. The flask began to glow an intense red, illuminating the entire room for a couple of seconds. "Wow. That must be the strongest reaction that I have seen yet. Granted, the spell is supposedly sensitive enough to detect even the smallest traces of poison in food or drink, so casting it on a flask of _only_ poison would have been excessive,"

"Fascinating. Does it work on all toxins?"

Orianna fought back a grin, though she failed miserably. The memories of Daphne's troubles with Zoe's pepper powder quickly rose to her mind once more. "Well...yes, and no. It detects _harmful poisons_ , but it does not detect things that might cause discomfort if it is technically food or drink. Zoe pranked Daphne once by spiking her pumpkin juice with concentrated super-hot pepper powder. She has a ring which lets her know if something is poisoned, the same way as the spell does, but even that didn't see the pepper powder as poison,"

"Judging by your amusement, I would assume something bad had happened to your friend," Amanda commented dryly. "Things that would be resolved in the toilet, I would assume,"

"More or less. In any event, the spell works well enough to detect any mind-altering potions so far. Daphne taught all of us how to cast it, and I have been drilling my sisters to use it every time they eat or drink anything,"

"Constant vigilance will save you when you're out there, kid. You're doing fine," Adams grunted. That was as close to praise as he would give, she supposed. "Good to hear that you're taking steps on your own to make yourself, your sisters and your friends all safe. You'll be a fine officer, I tell you. Now, enough of this magic. I can read your report for that. What's this guff about...pure-bloods, half-bloods and muggles that you're on about?"

Now that was a topic that was larger than she could properly explain. Orianna hesitated a little before saying, "I...hmm, that's a difficult one. You know how Slytherin house is a...very traditionalist house? Well, its students come mostly from old pure-blood families. That is, families with long, traceable, all-magical ancestry. They are mostly unexposed to technology, and are highly resistant to change. Most believe in the superiority of magic, and are rather set in their ways. Daphne's parents are like that, but she's a little different thanks to Tracey,"

"Not exposed to technology? Huh. Guess they just teleport around to get from place to place, then,"

"Yes. I think that is how it is. Anyway, to give you an idea of how backwards magical society is in its technology, Daphne had no idea at all about T-shirts. She actually thought that T-shirts and cargo pants were strictly boys' clothing. I wouldn't be surprised if most wizards and witches of the pure-blood sort do not know anything about electricity,"

"So, stuck in the fifteenth century?"

"A good way to think about it, mother. I suppose that you would have figured it out after trying half the potions recipes,"

Amanda snorted in amusement. "You do not know half of the problems I have had so far, Orianna. A 'measure' being some copper spoon of no proper size? These magicals have not even adopted a standardised measuring system. I had to test numerous batches to discover what a 'measure' actually was in terms of volume – and then only for that to fail when every _author_ used a different definition of 'measure'!"

"Right. I'm a busy man, Flynn. Get on with the report," groused the general, who checked his watch. "I have to be someplace else by three. Hurry up and give me the important bits. I'll read the rest of the written report later,"

"As you wish, General," Amanda said, taking over for Orianna. "The magicals appear to be facing a bit of a crisis, if I were to make sense of what my daughters are saying. One faction appears to be pushing for complete separation of magical and mundane society; that is, excluding all witches and wizards that were born to non-magical parents. These form a small, but powerful and influential group. The other opposing faction appears to be pushing for complete equality regardless of whether or not they were born to magical parents,"

"Hm. That is something to keep in mind, Flynn. If these magicals do wish to separate from Britain entirely, that is a secessionist movement that is a threat to the state,"

"Uncle, what are you...planning?"

"Just keeping all options on the table, Orianna," he said gruffly, "If the magicals prove to be a threat, then I need to put them down. Otherwise, we can just sit back and watch for the time being,"

Orianna scowled. Putting them down. Did he really think that the magicals were no better than animals, to warrant something like that?

"It is also important to note that the magicals have apparently gone through a war, approximately eleven years ago. The war seems to be about preserving the 'purity of magic' by excluding those who were not born to magical parents," continued Amanda. "Despite the war having been won by those who favoured taking in those with magical talent regardless of bloodline, the ideology seems to have lived on. I fear that it would be only a matter of time before the conflict restarts again,"

"Noted. Is anything happening right now that would need immediate intervention?"

"Not at the moment. However, if something happens, we will alert you as soon as we are aware,"

"Good. Very good. And Flynn; you might want to know that the other batch are doing well,"

"...Understood, sir,"

If Orianna hadn't been imagining things, there was a note of bitterness in her mother's last reply. Just what did Adams mean by 'the other batch', to get that sort of response from her mother?

* * *

Aveline didn't have much time at all to think about the plight of the boy next door for the first two weeks of the holidays. What time that she did have after her exercises and study of non-magical subjects (that her mother insisted upon), she was spending in the basement helping her mother with the veritable hoard of magical plants that she had recently bought from Diagon Alley. Mottled puffapods, bulbous bubotubers, a flaming bush – and even a particularly prickly spiky bush. She didn't mind helping her mother when it was needed, but at times she wished that her sisters could actually help with Herbology.

Zoe could, but whether or not she would was another matter. She would usually be up in her room, likely concocting a new way to prank someone. And the less said about Orianna's infamous black thumb, the better. Given a watering can, she would likely find some way of setting an icy shrub on fire. So with a resigned sigh, she continued to pull dead mandrakes out of their now-opened glass pods before tossing them into a waiting milk crate behind her.

A gentle hand squeezed the red-ribboned girl's shoulder. "Aveline, if you do not wish to assist, you may go and do as you please," Amanda spoke. "I trust that you have completed your homework?"

"Yep, but if nobody else helps you here, you'll be down here all day, mum,"

Amanda chuckled and gently rubbed the top of her daughter's head. "So thoughtful. I do appreciate it, dear. Last night, you were telling me about something before Zoe interrupted us. What were you about to say?"

"Oh—uh, it's about one of my friends from Hogwarts. Well, three, actually," she said. "Would you mind if they stayed over for the holidays?"

The geneticist paused. "Who are these three friends of yours?"

"Well—there's Tracey, Daphne and Hermione,"

"I've heard of them. Two of them are young witches, one of whom has not had much contact with the non-magical world, correct? And Lucille was telling me of Hermione. A bright young girl, the daughter of a dentist that works across from the hospital she works at,"

"Yep. She's a muggleborn witch in Gryffindor. She's got really wild, bushy brown hair, and teeth that are a bit large, and she can be a bit bossy. Not as much as Orianna, but...yep, that's the idea. Anyway, she's really, really smart,"

Amanda mulled it over, before slowly shaking her head. "No. I'm sorry, Aveline, but you must be aware that much of what I do here would be breaking laws in one way or another. Secrecy must be maintained, and the fewer people have visited this place, the better. However, if you would like to stay over at their houses for the holidays, I would not mind at all. In fact, considering that General Adams requires me to be somewhere else in three days' time, it would be preferable to know that you would be someplace enjoyable,"

"Aww, okay then,"

"I suppose you would like to send a letter to them, then?"

Aveline nodded excitedly. "Yep! But...oh, wait. How am I supposed to send a letter to Daphne or Tracey? I mean, I have their owl address, but I don't think I'd be able to send that by normal mail,"

"There is an owl post office in Diagon Alley, Aveline. As much as I would like to see how magical owls differ from normal owls, unfortunately Lucille despises birds and would never allow me to purchase one," Amanda said wistfully. "She may have mentioned something about the difficulty of cleaning up after their droppings. Oh, and before you go, dear, could you do something for me? Come,"

Amanda walked over to a workbench beside the distillation equipment. On top of it lay a thick, leatherbound book; on its cover was _Ancient Runes: Inscriptions of Power_ in jagged, golden writing.

But that was not all that was on the desk. Aveline could see a narrow rod of copper, with hundreds of tiny little letters – or symbols – carved all over its surface. A crude rubber handle had been attached to it, perhaps taken from an old bicycle tyre; and to top off the rather bizarre construction, she could see quite a few half-melted rubber bands straining to keep it all together.

"Ooh, what's this?" Aveline asked, reaching out and picking up the rod. "Is it a wand—eep!"

The rod shivered in her hand and emitted a burst of blue sparks from its tip. The symbols running up its length glowed with an eerie bluish-white glow, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. If holding her wand for the first time filled her with warmth and energy, the rod in front of her gave off a complete feeling of _wrongness,_ for a lack of a better word. It was as though the rod was feeding off her energy and her magic, sucking and devouring it wherever her skin touched the metal.

When she dropped it back onto the table, the light vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "That felt really weird," she remarked, "Like it was really cold. And hungry,"

"Indeed it does. And it is as well that you should feel that way, as it is intended," Amanda said, slipping on a thick leather glove before picking up the rod. This time, the rod glowed only faintly, though still pulsing ever so softly. "Though you really should be aware of standard safety procedures, Aveline. This rod, while unpleasant to hold, is quite safe. What if I had been working on something toxic or explosive instead?"

"Sorry, mum,"

Sighing, Amanda ruffled Aveline's hair. "Aveline, I've told you many times before. Ask before touching something. In any case, what do you think it is?"

"It looks like a wand, but it feels all wrong,"

"I suppose it does look like one, doesn't it? Well, it is actually a tool to detect magic. Specifically, the flow of magical energy - or so I believe. Try casting something near it. If my hypothesis is correct, then it should glow brightly and bleed off any excess energy as sparks,"

Aveline nodded and pulled out her traceless wand. A soothing warmth crept along her fingers, much less hostile than the metal wand's frigid touch. With a slight flourish, she incanted, 'Lumos!', making sure that her wand was just above the metal one when the Lighting Charm started to work. Much to her shock and amazement, the metal wand lit up with a brilliant white light, spewing out hundreds upon thousands of tiny little white sparks.

"That will do. Stop, Aveline!" her mother said sternly, shielding her eyes with a hand. By the time that Aveline's wand-lighting charm had extinguished itself, the metal rod was glowed a dull red, with little wisps of smoke rising from the slightly burned table beneath it. "I think it's safe to say that it works. A little too well, perhaps," she muttered. "I will need to make some adjustments to its sensitivity. In any case, Aveline, you should have some time for yourself. Why not write a letter to your friends, to see if you and your sisters could sleep over? Tomorrow I will be heading to Diagon Alley to purchase a few more things with Lucille, and we can drop your letter off while we are there,"

"That sounds great, mum. Thanks," she replied, already fantasising about what amazing things a magical house could possibly have. Hogwarts had been incredible, but she still wondered about what things were like in a normal magical house. How could they get along without electricity? How did food just appear on their plates in feasts? Did it work the same way in a magical household? The questions just kept floating in her mind, and she was nearly bouncing up and down in excitement as she zoomed out of the basement to write her letter.

* * *

A/N:

Amanda has plans. Big plans. And so does the military. What could she possibly want with a rune-stick that detects magical flux? Let's see what happens next!

NecroJake: It's likely that they won't have too much to do with Harry till much later. Right now, until Harry can ditch the walking trashcan (or the trashcan grows up), it'll be very difficult for any of them to get along. As for the general, he's quite paranoid and sees the magicals as a threat. If he can't get their abilities are, he would prefer them eliminated. With great prejudice.

Dragon Man 180: It really depends on how Lord Greengrass would see the situation. On one hand, having an extra allied vote in the Wizengamot would be good; but on the other hand, as Potter is still a minor, he would need a proxy or a regent to take his place, and therefore largely nullifies the effect of rescuing Harry. Plus, to do so would require the go-ahead of the Wizengamot - which, as we know, is a puppet of Dumbledore.

Chaosrin: Yep. My current intentions is that Potter will not be alerted of his true position, as there are multiple things in the way. One is that his guardian is actually Dumbledore, who would naturally block every attempt to empower Harry. Second is that the girls are, aside from Aveline, somewhat apathetic about Potter. They simply don't interact enough, and given that Ron is always near Harry and cannot stand Slytherins, it gives them little incentive to care (other than Daphne, whose parents could possibly see gains out of putting House Potter in their debt - but again, as above, blocked by Dumbledore). And yes, I agree with you that politics should not be the primary plot of this story. This is about the supremacy of science vs magic, or a recombination of the two.


	16. The Primordial Element

Amanda shivered a little as she stepped out of an armoured personnel carrier in the middle of a level plain in the middle of Wiltshire. A torrential rain was pouring down on her head, only barely staved off by the thick canvas trench coat that she was wearing. A flash of lightning illuminated the circle of standing stones that were barely in front of her – as well as numerous other armoured personnel carriers that formed a protective cordon around the entire monument.

"I hope there's a damn good reason why you insisted on this trip, Flynn," grumbled Adams, as he stomped out of the APC right behind her. "Keeping the other divisions silent is going to be a real nightmare. And don't even say a word about having to explain to the National Trust about why we need to lock down this goddamned stone-age monument for a few nights,"

"Oh, I assure you. There is a _very_ good reason for it," she replied, pulling out a flux-sensor rod. Giving it an experimental wave, she grinned triumphantly when the rod dribbled a small amount of white sparks.

"What the hell is that thing?"

"A way to detect magic...and absorb it, if my experiment results hold true here,"

The scientist walked forward, closely followed by General Adams and two of his closest aides. As she passed under a stone arch, she reached out and touched the surface of the stone, feeling the surface. What looked like a perfectly smooth stone surface to her eyes felt completely different to her fingers. She could feel minute grooves carved into it. Some were curved. Some were straight. Some at an angle, and others parallel to each other.

Runes, she told herself. Waving her 'wand' again, she watched intently as the magical flux caused row after row of 'sowilo' runes light up all along its length. From its tip, a bright white flame burst forth; holding it up to the stone surface in front of her, she smiled triumphantly as the illusionary stone surface melted away, revealing a vast sprawl of untidily carved runes on the stone. Every single one was glowing faintly blue with an inner light.

General Adams gawked at the spectacle in front of him. As did his two aides, who clutched their submachineguns ever closer to their chests nervously. "What on God's green earth is this shit?" he finally blurted out.

"Writing. Though I cannot read it properly," she replied simply. "Before you ask why not, need I remind you, sir, that I am not an archaeologist. Do we have a camera to take an image of this?"

"Williams! Get the camera from the back of the APC. On the double!" he barked out, and one of his two aides sprinted back to their vehicle. In the meantime, Amanda waved the sensor rod again, this time over the other stone pillar that she had not illuminated. Again, the entire pillar was covered in glowing runes as the ancient illusions covering them gave way. Unlike the unpleasant coldness that the rod in her hand radiated, the blue runes on the pillars felt...warm. It was as though they were inviting her to reach out, to touch them. To feel them. To let them into her mind.

She shook her head and pulled away. "What...?" she muttered, feeling the sensations recede. "Nobody touch the pillars! There's something not quite right here,"

Leaning as close as she dared to the pillars, she tried to read the inscribed runes. There were quite a few instances of 'sowilo' beside 'thurisaz' and 'tyr'. An amplification sequence, exactly as she herself used on her flux-sensor. What the rest read, however, she did not know. Some of the runes were truly ancient, weathered down to nearly smooth dimples in the stone; others were in even worse condition, only just visible thanks to scraps of magical ink that responded to the glowing rod in her hand.

"I thought you couldn't read it, Flynn,"

"I can only understand some parts of it, but I still cannot make sense of it all. It's some kind of power amplifier, but the runes are very worn down. It would be unwise to do anything before we know more about its function,"

As she checked each pillar's inscriptions, she noticed that her flux-sensor grew warmer and warmer; and that the writing on each pillar grew brighter and brighter. By the time she had walked the entire circle and examined every carved rune, the entire field was illuminated in an eerie bluish-white light. The unnerved aide of the general was snapping off photographs from the camera as rapidly as he could, recording everything that he could see; pillars, slabs of stone, crumbled, broken pieces – everything and anything that had even the tiniest scrap of inscription on it.

Nothing, however, could have prepared them for what came next. The earth trembled and shook; from the centre of the circle of standing stones, deep cracks surged through the ground, tossing up great clods of mud and grass as the earth itself seemed to burst open. The inner stone circle rose up, their rough-hewn forms cracking and reforming into smooth, round pillars that seemed to reach up towards the stars.

What was once simply grass and mud in the centre of the monument, however, became far more than that. Smooth marble tiles lined a deep basin-like well almost as wide as a grown man was tall, into which streams of some gleaming silvery-blue liquid trickled in at a glacial pace. Within the centre of the liquid itself stood a single blue crystal the size of her arm.

"What is this—ouch!" Amanda cried out. The moment that she had taken a step towards the crystal, the flux-sensor in her hand glowed a blinding white before bursting into white flames. Where there was once an intricately-carved copper rod, there was now a puddle of molten copper that steadily burned into the marble beneath her feet. "Well. I suppose that answers that question,"

"Roberts, Edwards, return to the APC. Get a crate and a barrel so we can move this...whatever it is, right now!"

His two aides, shaken, could only nod mutely and shuffle off to retrieve the storage crate and barrel that the general had asked for. "Give me an answer I can understand, Flynn. What the _hell_ am I looking at, and what the _hell_ just happened?"

"Given that the pillars around this monument appear to be inscribed with runes that seem to mimic what was on my flux-sensor, I think...no, it must be. General Adams, I think we may have stumbled across a magical fountainhead,"

The general gave a skeptical grunt. "Right. A magical fountain. And how did you manage to just conveniently know that the goddamn Stonehenge would be hiding one?"

"I have had some time to read about magical energy theory, sir. Some books of which I had to acquire from...underground sources," she answered, grimacing. "I don't know why the books are outlawed here, but I had to ask the goblins if they could smuggle copies in from France. In any case, I digress. According to the theory behind magical energy, magic exists in two forms. Ambient magic – that is, magic that is present in the world around us – flows around us, like water in a river. Personal magic, which is the other form of it, seems to be generated by the magic-user himself or herself,"

"And that's the sort that X-01, X-02, and X-03 are capable of?"

Amanda winced. "I would prefer that you do not refer to them by their numbers, general. But yes, personal magic is what they can do with their wands. This...this is different. What they had written in the books regarding ambient magic is purely theoretical, as wizards have long relied on their own personal magic to work any and all effects on the physical world. Ambient magic had so long fallen out of favour that it has become myth and legend to them,"

She glanced over at the crystal that the two soldiers were now carefully hauling out of the basin and into the heavy steel crate that they had brought. "I would like to examine this more closely, general. Please leave me to do my work; I am sure that you have more questions that I am currently unable to answer,"

"Hmph. Fine, go and do your thing. I'll make sure that this is all cleaned up by the time the twits in the National Trust come around. I expect answers within a week, Flynn,"

* * *

Answers were not at all forthcoming with the things that Amanda had retrieved from Stonehenge. The stone basin had been excised from the ground and was now sitting in a restricted top-secret facility somewhere else in England, while the crystal and the barrel of liquid that were once in the basin were in her basement. From what she had heard, the basin had become largely inert once it had been removed from the ground; and likewise, the lit runes upon the stone pillars also dimmed and faded away soon after.

The crystal and the liquid – which she had dubbed the 'mana crystal' and 'liquid mana' after the vague references in the French grimoires that she had purchased with Snapjaw's aid (and no small amount of golden Galleons) – sat on her workbench. The crystal was largely untouched, as was the barrel of liquid. She had found that the crystal seemed to act as a power source of nearly incomprehensible magnitude; every rune that she had carved on _anything_ within ten metres of it seemed to break down catastrophically. They would glow brightly for a split-second before either bursting into flame, exploding into hundreds of tiny fragments, or melting into a puddle of molten slag.

The liquid mana, however, proved to be an entirely different animal. It had proven to be rather explosive, as her charred floor and singed lab coat could attest when she dropped a tiny pipette of it by accident. Yet when added in minute quantities to potions, it magnified their effect many times over, at the cost of rendering said potion extremely volatile. The slightest amount of heat, the tiniest of bumps – and the potion would explode, spraying the entire room with bits of broken glass and vaporised potion.

And so the scientist was at a complete and utter loss as to what to do with the liquid mana. True, it could possibly be used as a highly-refined vehicle fuel, or perhaps a new explosive. Something, however, whispered in her ear that the very idea of doing so was wasteful. After all, she was only aware of a single place in all of England thus far where she could possibly extract more of the mystical compound.

Deciding to take a break from the experiments, Amanda sat back in her desk chair and began to leaf through the photographs of the rune matrix that the general's aides had photographed. Transcribing and translating the ancient runes took a great deal of time, especially when many of them were missing and had to be filled in while cross-checking against several different manuals on the subject. It was difficult and mentally exhausting work.

"Hmm," Amanda murmured, poring over the next three sets of images. So preoccupied was she with reading the photographs that she did not realise that she had picked up a small beaker of liquid mana instead of her now-cold coffee. Only when the first burning gulp went down her throat did she cough and sputter, realising her terrible lapse in judgement.

Yet instead of a horrible burning sensation – or an impending explosive doom – she felt herself...be energised. A strange feeling coursed through her; a sensation of unlimited power, of unlimited potential. A sensation that she could achieve _anything_. A single thought of the _spark_ of ingenuity caused a powerful arc of electricity to burst into existence between the fingers of her right hand.

She blinked once. Twice. Her mind tried – and failed – to process what had just happened. "That's impossible," muttered the scientist, examining her hand closely. She could smell the sharp sting of ozone in the air, as though a thunderbolt had struck very close to her. Warily, she pointed an index finger at the reinforced brickwork at the back of her basement, and imagined an icy spear shooting out of her hand.

In the next moment, she felt herself be thrown to the ground by the recoil of something _huge_ leaving her hand – and then a terrible tremor and a deafening crash shook the entire room, causing dust to drift down from the ceiling. Groaning, she stood up again, and looked in shock at the metre-long rod of blue ice that had embedded itself into the wall.

"That is...impossible!" exclaimed Amanda. She pointed her finger at the wall again, bracing herself against the impending recoil of what she was about to do. Another icy spear shot out of her hand, followed by another, and another; each one smaller than the last, until the very last one was barely more than a faint puff of mist.

That was proof enough for her about the true nature of liquid mana. The way that the potions had been greatly amplified – the way it exploded violently, with no discernible heat and a blinding discharge of light – and the way that it granted her, albeit temporarily, the use of magic – liquid mana was, quite literally, liquefied magic.

Liquefied magic. Her eyes widened at the implications. Quickly, she rummaged in her drawers for some charcoal, and threw it into a mortar and pestle. After it had been quickly ground down to a fine powder, she added a bit of water to turn it into a paste, and a single drop of liquid mana. Immediately, the 'ink' started to glow a faint blue with magic power coursing through it.

Chewing on her lip, Amanda pulled out a quill and a scrap of paper. "If everything is as I suspect..." she whispered to herself. "...Thurisaz, gebo, sowilo, gebo, tyr, gebo, fehu. And the detonation sequence, hagalaz, isaz, laguz, gebo,"

With the hastily-written rune sequence completed and set in its requisite pentagram, she quickly folded the paper into a tiny paper aeroplane and tossed it at the wall before jumping behind a workbench for cover. Those were the longest seconds she had ever felt pass. Despite closing her eyes and covering her ears – and having a heavy metal workbench between her and the aeroplane - a bright flash and a deafening bang overwhelmed her senses. Groaning incoherently for a while, she stumbled about on all fours until she felt a pair of hands gently wrap themselves about her and pull her back up to her feet.

"... ... ...cherie? Mon dieu, is...alright?"

"Not quite, Lucille, not quite," she groaned. It was rather odd not being able to hear herself speak. Did she rupture an eardrum? "Could you get the healing solution? It's in the top left cabinet, in the medical kit. Spray it into my ears,"

Amanda's head was spinning even as she felt herself be guided down into her desk chair. Her eyes were still blinded by the flash, and only after the potion had been sprayed into her ears by Lucille did her hearing completely return.

"Mon dieu. I thought zat you had brought ze 'ouse down about us!" Lucille spoke shakily. "Zat explosion! What on zis Earth were you zinking of doing, ma cherie? Somezing zis dangerous should not be conducted indoors,"

"It was accident, Lucille," Amanda replied, half-truthfully. The first one was an accident. The second, however? That was an experimental success, even if it was dangerous.

And the results of the experiment, frankly, disturbed her. There was only a single drop of liquid mana in that makeshift flashbang rune sequence; and yet, it was far more powerful than any stun grenade that she had seen used on any live test subject before. She shuddered as she considered what may have happened if her sequence was different; if, say, she were to invoke a fireball instead. Or a blizzard.

Or if she had used more than a single drop of liquid mana. Her vision was starting to return again, and she glanced nervously in the direction of the barrel of liquid. There had to be at least thirty litres of the stuff in her basement, and she had used only _half a millilitre_ in a shoddily and hastily crafted stun-combination rune scheme. And considering that the mana crystal appeared to be simply the solid form of liquid mana, and solids were denser than liquids-

"Mon dieu! Amanda? Are you quite sure zat you are feeling alright?" exclaimed Lucille as the scientist slumped back in her seat, dazed.

She could only answer with a single sentence. "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds," Amanda whispered ruefully, recalling the famous words of another scientist. If the military – no, if _General Adams_ caught wind of what she had discovered – she dared not think about what the implications would be. "Oh, God. What have I done? What have I discovered?! Lucille—Lucille! You will _not_ speak about this to _anyone_!"

* * *

A/N:

Magical geiger counter explodes. Amanda still moves forward, collects concentrated magical residue of an active ley line. Now she's got liquid and solid residues, which are extremely volatile and dangerous. Would she be able to hide her discoveries? And for how long?

Dragon Man 180: Yep, that's the sort of shit that Adams would actually try to pull off. He only sees them as numbers, weapons to be used.

KyuubiNoPuma: See how he refers to the girls, and think about how he actually treats the other three. Note that Amanda isn't even aware of how the other three clones are treated.


	17. Whitecliff Hall

To say that the muggleborn witches in Tracey's group were shocked by the location of the Davis estate would have been about as wrong as saying an elephant was merely large. No, Tracey Davis had quite the terrible problem of stifling her giggles when the triplets and Hermione had arrived at their home.

All four of them had gawked at the lands surrounding the small hole and hidden driveway that was perched atop the cliffs of Dover. Maybe they had expected something more normal, she thought. Which, given how her father had actually driven a plain white van to collect them from the Granger household on Saturday morning, was an entirely reasonable expectation.

"What? You girls didn't actually think that we wizards couldn't drive, did you?" she chortled. "Well, dad actually picked it up after mum pestered him to. He still can't get over how soft and comfy the seats are after they had some permanent softening charms applied to them,"

"I—that's not what I'm surprised about, Tracey! I mean, driving is easy...I think?"

"It actually is. Dad's gotten me to play around with his van once or twice before. Not that I've actually driven it onto a road, mind you,"

"I'm more surprised about where your...house is," Hermione muttered shakily. She was laying down front-first on the edge of the cliff, peering down at the foaming sea below. Wedged in a wide crevice between two cliff faces was the unmistakable gleam of cerulean roof tiles, looking much like an out-of-place stretch of calm sea among the churning waves. "Don't you get a bit...seasick?"

"Oh, it's not that bad once you get used to it. The house wards actually keep the waves from hitting the house. Come downstairs, you'll love it!"

The spiral tunnel that led down to the house itself seemed to be lined with mossy stonework. Every so often, a droplet of water would fall from the ceiling and splash against the cobblestone floor, which itself was rather wet and slippery. "Watch your step," called out Tracey after Zoe slipped and landed hard on her backside.

"How do you even stand walking down this every day? It's nearly pitch black, and it's so darned slippery!" groused Zoe as her two sisters helped her back to her feet. Thankfully, it wasn't that much further until they all arrived at the actual front door of the Davis residence. Which, to their eyes, strongly resembled the front of a cathedral that had been somehow squeezed into the narrow confines of a cavern. Chalk-white limestone arches formed the narrow windows and tall double doors of the home, while thick oaken doors barred their entry.

"Where'd the car go?" Aveline asked bemusedly. "The driveway just stopped here,"

"A shrinking spell takes care of that, dears. The car normally sits on our mantelpiece," a soft voice spoke from behind the heavy double doors. With a spoken order, they swung open, revealing a rather short and slenderly-built woman. Like Tracey, she had creamy pale skin that had the faintest dusting of freckles; her hair, too, was a lush chocolate brown that reached well below her shoulders in gentle waves. Her eyes crinkled in a warm, heartfelt smile as she waved at them. "Come inside, before you catch a cold! Oh, my husband should really not have left you to walk all the way down that horrid tunnel. We have house-elves to help you get here without doing that,"

"Don't blame me! Tracey suggested that they have a look around our estate grounds before they're keyed in to the defensive wards!"

Zoe shot Tracey a look that promised revenge in the near future, to which Tracey simply returned an innocent grin. "Tracey," warned her mother, "Be nice to your friends,"

"Aww, but it's only a harmless prank, mum," sighed the brunette exaggeratedly.

"Perhaps it is. But they're still guests here, and that means you, as our daughter, need to introduce them _properly_ to us. Yes, young lady, even if your father has actually met them while taking them here,"

"Oh, fine. Mum, I'd like you to meet Hermione Granger. These three ginger-haired girls behind me are Orianna, Aveline and Zoe. Or black, green and red, if you'd like to go by their ribbons. Hermione, Orianna, Aveline, Zoe; I'd like you to meet my mother, Valerie. Yes, mum, I know it's not a 'proper' introduction, but we're not in one of those stuffy pureblood balls,"

"Your father wouldn't approve," sighed Mrs. Davis. To everyone's surprise, however, her lips quirked upwards in a cheeky half-smile. "But you wouldn't be my daughter if you weren't like that, would you? Like mother, like daughter, they said. Come in, you four. Let's get you comfortable, shall we? Daphne is already inside,"

The inside of the house looked even more incredible. The floors, the walls, even the vaulted ceiling; they all appeared to have been carved out of solid rock. Sconces of clear crystal lined the walls of the dining hall beyond the entryway, the bluebell flames held inside them casting a warm light upon all in the room. The high-backed chairs that lined the dining table had plush blue quilting, while the table itself had matching blue linen runners and placemats on it. At the head of the table was a roaring fireplace; upon its mantelpiece, just as Mrs. Davis had said, was tiny, shrunken van. And flanking the fireplace on either side were a pair of balconies, each affording a beautiful view of the ocean beyond.

"Welcome to Whitecliff Hall, girls. If you'd like to have a drink or a snack, the kitchen is in the room to the right-" Mrs. Davis said, pointing at an archway through which delicious smells wafted in, "-and the hallway leading to the bedrooms are on the left. The bathrooms are on the first floor downstairs, opposite the living room. And if you are to go all the way down, there's a beach down at the bottom,"

Hermione blinked. "A beach!?" she exclaimed incredulously, "But there's – that can't be right, this is a cliff!"

Mrs. Davis simply laughed. "Go downstairs and see for yourself. There is certainly a beach down there, dear. Never underestimate the power of a good expansion charm,"

True to her word, there was certainly a beautiful beach downstairs. A little narrow, perhaps; but it was definitely a beach. The wild, foaming waves of the sea further off seemed to hit an invisible barrier about twenty metres out, reducing them to gently lapping waters over pristine white sands. On the edge of the water was a familiar blonde girl, her hair drifting slightly in the gentle ocean breeze.

"Daphne!" cried out Aveline happily, skipping off to give the unsuspecting blonde a tackle-hug.

"Aveline! Get off me!" Daphne gasped, trying her hardest to pry the overly cheerful girl's arms from around her. "I can't – breathe!"

"Oops. Sorry. How'd you get here before us?"

"Daphy doesn't live very far away from me, Ivy. She's pretty much just down the road. You know, the giant grassy field just there? Her house is there,"

"But there wasn't anything there. Does she have an underground house or something?"

"No, you dolt. Permanent disillusionment charms keep it hidden from prying eyes, and repelling wards make sure that everyone stays off our property," explained Daphne with a huff. "And Tracey, I would appreciate that you did not go about telling people about where my house is without asking first. There's a reason why it's Unplottable,"

"Yeah, yeah, protection of your virtue, honour, wealth and all that," said Tracey airily. "Lighten up, Daphy. You're in good company with us, remember? Let's have a seat before mum calls us up for lunch,"

And so the girls lazed about on the beach, exchanging idle banter before Mrs. Davis called them up for lunch. A hearty meal of freshly-caught and fried fish and chips awaited them, alongside large jugs filled with blackberry juice and numerous fruit pies. Mr. Davis had come in from one of the side rooms, carrying what looked like a rather bulky radio and a rolled-up newspaper. The radio was warbling out some strange song that none of the girls particularly cared for, but both Mr. and Mrs. Davis clearly liked. As he passed by Orianna, however, the headline on the newspaper that had her paling considerably.

"Mr. Davis," she choked out after swallowing a mouthful of blackberry juice, "Could I please see that newspaper?"

"Of course," he said, raising an eyebrow questioningly but handing her his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ all the same. In large bold letters, the headline plastered across most of the front page read:

 _Magical Anomaly at Stonehenge:_

 _Massive Magical Pulse Destroys Many Magical Devices_

 _By Ignatius Burke_

"Ori? What's wrong?" queried Aveline, tilting her head slightly. "Let me see—oh. Didn't mum say that she would be there last night?"

"Yes. I wonder what happened. Well; only one way to find out. Let us read it,"

 _Ministry of Magic officials were alerted to an enormous burst of magical energy originating from Stonehenge in the early hours of the morning by concerned families around Wiltshire. At approximately two o'clock in the morning, the first reports of devices inexplicably exploding or bursting into brilliant white flames were received by late-night officers of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement from distressed members of the Wizarding public. After receiving hundreds of reports, DMLE Aurors were able to pinpoint the probable location of the magical disturbance as Stonehenge._

 _Unfortunately for the on-duty Aurors, whoever – or whatever – had triggered the magical burst had long since disappeared by the time they arrived. Unclassified reports from the DMLE indicate that there is rather significant magical residue on every pillar, rock and stone around the monument, but no particular spell could be identified. Furthermore, there appears to be freshly-excavated dirt in the centre of the monument, along with a deep depression that showed that something had been removed from it._

 _Amelia Bones, the head of the DMLE, has refused to comment on whether or not this was an act of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers, citing that her own investigations have not yet begun, and is likely not to begin anytime soon given that the muggle government of Britain has scheduled routine maintenance works on the monument at this time. Could it be a sign of the return of an ancient power, or is it merely an accidental discharge of magic from a known ritual site? Could it possibly be something more sinister? We at the_ Daily Prophet _will continue to press for answers, as we believe our readers deserve to know the truth behind such a terrible disturbance._

 _Known as an ancient magical ritual site used by wizards and witches thousands of years ago, the actual function of Stonehenge has eluded scholars for centuries. Some have speculated that it was simply a festival location to celebrate the Summer Solstice and the Winter Solstice. Others claim that it is a magically-enhanced site that improves the potency of Dark Arts spells. Common consensus among learned scholars is that the site is simply a defunct ritual circle, but this claim seems to be well in doubt given the previous events._

 _For more regarding Stonehenge, turn to page 4._

"Hm. There wasn't anything mentioned about any muggles present. Perhaps mother had not arrived there yet," Orianna murmured. She passed the newspaper to Hermione, who was soon engrossed in it.

"Chill out, Ori. I'm sure she's fine. I mean, if something did happen, she could just owl us, yeah? Come on, just enjoy yourself for once,"

"That is true, she could just send a message to us if something did happen," conceded Orianna.

Her stomach rumbled as Mrs. Davis placed a generous slice of the most delicious-smelling fried tuna in front of her. Perhaps she should just relax for once. After all, it was hard to continue focusing on responsibilities when her sisters were goofing around and having fun with their – no, _her_ friends.

* * *

Two weeks quickly passed in the Davis household. Zoe, Orianna and Aveline had quickly gotten accustomed to living in a magical household. A household where washing the dishes was handled by a quick wave of a wand, cleaning the floors was done much the same way. Even cutting and watering the verdant lawn above the house was handled by clever applications of charms. Which left the girls to their own devices for most of it.

Orianna, having discovered the infestation of gnomes in the estate gardens, had quickly found the other use of the little creatures. After making the girls do a quick run around the edge of the grassy meadow around the house as they did every morning at Hogwarts, she had them all chase gnomes for an hour. Competitions were soon held between them to see how far they could toss the fat potato-like blighters; an exercise in arm strength as well, considering that they heartily resisted every attempt to uproot and throw them. Sure, they would eventually return to the gardens, but it was infinitely harder for them to do so after being thrown over the edge of the cliff and into the wild surf below.

Something which was made even more fun when Zoe suggested that they used the little pests as target practice for minor hexes while they were airborne. Daphne, for some reason, seemed to take particularly great delight in smacking them about with tennis ball-sized balls of snow that she conjured out of her wand.

At breakfast on the fifteenth day, the girls found themselves facing a most bizarre sight. A group of twelve barn owls had landed on the balcony just beyond the dining room. Each one was hooting and barking loudly, while the two closest to the room were pecking the glass door impatiently.

"Coming," Zoe muttered, rubbing her eyes. She opened the balcony window to find one particularly pompous owl marching up to her and sticking out its leg, which had a rolled-up letter attached to it. As soon as Zoe had untied the letter from it, all the owls flew away without so much as asking for a snack.

"Huh, that was different. Okay, let's see...wait, it's from mum?"

"Ooh, let me see!" chirped Aveline, plopping down on Zoe's shoulders and reading the letter with her sister.

 _To Aveline, Zoe and Orianna Flynn_

 _Whitecliff Hall_

 _Dover_

 _Goblin Special Express Delivery: Postage Paid_

 _My daughters, if you are reading this, then my message has safely arrived without interception or modifications._

 _First of all, I would like to ask if you are all behaving yourselves. Zoe especially. I know that this is the first time that I have allowed you three to visit a friend's house, and I hope that you have not forced Orianna to work excessively to contain your antics. If you are reading this, Zoe, know that any complaint from Mr. or Mrs. Davis regarding your behaviour, and I will have you cleaning every bit of glassware in my possession for the rest of the holidays._

"What's she talking about? Me? Misbehaving? No, no, never," giggled Zoe impishly.

 _Secondly, I would like to say happy birthday to the three of you. It has been twelve years since you were born – and you have all certainly grown to be rather beautiful girls. It fills my heart with pride and joy to know the three of you are flourishing with your talents, though if I have to admit, I was somewhat disappointed when Orianna has informed me that none of you were able to participate in learning how to fly a broomstick, due to your weight._

 _That all changes with the arrival of this new 'broomstick'. My colleagues in the engineering divisions have come together to assist me with its construction. I am assured that the materials used in its construction are capable of carrying nearly a whole ton of weight before it even risks collapsing. Think of it as a birthday gift from all of us at my new assigned research facility, girls._

Aveline's jaw dropped. "WE CAN FLY NOW?!" she yelled in excitement. "Ow! What was that for?" yelped the girl as Zoe whacked her about the ears.

"Yelling in my ears, Ivy! You're right next to me," she grumbled, still cupping her right ear.

 _Thirdly, your home. On the orders of my employer, your other mother and I have been relocated. Our home at Number Three, Privet Drive has been emptied and all our belongings moved to another location, which I am not permitted to disclose in a letter. As your next school term is approaching, you will likely be visiting Diagon Alley quite soon. I and Lucille will meet you there, in front of Gringotts._

 _Love you all,_

 _Amanda Flynn_

 _P.S. Once you have read this, the letter will destroy itself._

"What does she mean by-" Zoe started to speak; but before she could even finish, the row of bluish-white glowing runes at the bottom of the letter flared up brightly. In a flash, the entire sheet of paper had been consumed by intense blue-white flames. "Wicked! I didn't know mum could do that!" she laughed, dusting her hands clean from ash.

"Come on, Zoe, let's check out what mum sent!"

Aveline's hands were trembling with excitement as she brought the carefully-wrapped package up to the table. She slowly took apart the brown paper wrap, revealing a cardboard box inside, filled to bursting with little pieces of white foam. In the middle of it all sat a bizarre-looking contraption; a metal shaft, slightly thicker than a standard broomstick, with what looked like a motorcycle seat crudely welded on about halfway up. There were also what looked like pedals and handles; the latter seemed to have odd levers attached to them, while just behind the pedals was an egg-shaped device the size of a broomstick's tail-twig bundle. Countless tiny runes had been inscribed with perfect precision all over it; though on the frontmost part of the handle, in tiny silver letters, was written the broom's name – and most certainly not in runes: _Greased Lightning_.

"That's not a broomstick. Way too much metal," Tracey said, prodding the curious-looking 'broomstick'. "Looks interesting, though. Hey, should we try it out? I've been dying to fly for a while, and I'm sure that dad won't mind if I take an old broomstick out for a ride,"

"No time like now to try it. Come on, girls, let's see if one of us three is going to end up two feet in the ground again,"

"Like last time?" giggled Tracey.

"Like last time," Orianna groaned last time. "Please, Tracey. No need to remind us all. Let's finish breakfast first before we do anything, though,"

With the excitement of trying out something new and shiny, the girls quickly finished off their meals and headed up to the meadows, broomsticks in hand. The first thing that they had been all taught by Madam Hooch was to layout the broomsticks on the ground before calling out 'UP!' in a nice firm voice, to activate the broomstick. Which worked perfectly fine for the old Cleansweeps that the Davises had; but the _Greased Lightning_ remained obstinately still on the ground, its runes still dull and lifeless.

"Maybe there's something else that's needed to turn it on? Like a power switch?" offered Hermione, who was already on a broomstick. "I mean, it definitely looks like something that isn't magical at all. You said that you were all from non-magical backgrounds, yes?"

"Oh, that might be it. Thanks, Hermione," Aveline said. She turned the broomstick over, looking for the switch. When she did see it, she groaned and slapped her forehead; on the top of the egg-shaped rear of the broom, there was a bright red circle with the symbol of a thunderbolt painted within. "I'm so silly. How did I miss that?"

A quick press of the 'button', and the broomstick started to tremble. One by one, the runes on the broomstick began to light up. The egg-shaped rear cracked into six segments, opening up slightly to reveal a radiant blue-white crystal spinning rapidly inside. Slowly, the broom rose to waist height, the crystal emitting a constant low hum all the while.

"After you, Ivy," Zoe said, giving her sister a theatrical bow. Aveline jumped onto the broom and whooped happily when it did not give way under her weight. "Wow. Mum wasn't kidding. Let's see you fly, Ivy!"

With a kick, Aveline tried to get the broom to move upwards. Which it did – for all of a few seconds before the device suddenly stabilised itself and refused to move any higher. "Didn't Madam Hooch say that we just had to think about it going up?" Aveline asked confusedly.

"Wait, let me check the manual,"

"You mean there was a manual!? And you didn't tell me?!"

"It slipped my mind! Honest! Anyway, it says to pull the right handle back or push the left handle forward to turn right-"

As Aveline tried that, she yelped in surprise when the engine in the back of the broom started to let out a low whine. If she wasn't imagining things, it had grown a bit brighter; she could _almost_ feel the power that was surging through it.

"-pull the right lever to tilt up, and left lever to tilt down. Rock the pedals forward and back to move forward. Seems simple enough, sis. Try it!"

The broom lurched forward the moment that Aveline tilted her feet. She yelled and whooped in exhilaration as the metal broom zoomed around at (to her) breakneck speeds. Sure, it was a little clunky; both Daphne and Tracey were flying circles around her, as their brooms were both faster and responded more quickly; and unlike normal brooms, it seemed to be unable to move straight up or down. However, the fact remained that it was still a broom that was capable of taking her weight without collapsing, and she had to give it credit for that.

"Best. Birthday gift. EVER!" Aveline cheered, pulling a loop-the-loop. "Zoe, you need to try this!"

"Come down, Ivy! I can't try it if you're going to fly all day!"

It was at that moment that Aveline realised that she had one big problem. She knew how to go forward (at high speeds), and she knew how to reverse (sort of). She knew how to angle the broom up or down, and to make it go left and right. But for the life of her, she couldn't imagine herself landing the broom without crashing. After all, she only knew of two speeds on the broom: fast – and slightly less fast. And unlike a normal broom, it could not move straight up or down.

Gently coming down to land seemed completely out of the question.

"Uh...that might be hard, sis,"

* * *

A/N:

Magitechnology is slowly developing in England. Whether or not this will escape the notice of the magicals for long, however, remains to be seen; and how they will react to it would be another matter entirely.

The 'broomstick' is not as flexible, not as fast and not as maneuverable as even a basic and outdated Cleansweep model, but it certainly is a major step in making something powered by magic yet constructed with non-magical precision.

KentLogin: I think a lot more than just the general would be interested in Veritaserum. Aside from being able to interrogate someone without limitations and knowing that they will always tell the truth, imagine how much more streamlined judicial systems would be if all plaintiffs and defendants had to be interrogated under it. No exemptions at all.

The Prime Cronos: The magical government of Britain is rather clueless - and honestly, very incompetent. It would be a while yet before they realise the muggles are actually up to something.

Wernnon: Glad to hear that you enjoyed it!

Dragon Man 180: Giant enemy crab: attack its weak point for massive damage! Amanda's magic is purely temporary; drinking liquid mana infuses the drinker with magic until it is depleted. And yes, I'm aware of the mana potion energy drink. Fun fact: Adding hydrogen peroxide to a solution of luminol, sodium hydroxide and water makes it look like a Nuka-Cola Quantum. Especially when done in a soda bottle!


	18. Prince Charming

Hermione often thought of herself as someone who was rarely confused about something. She prided herself on learning as much as she could from everything she could read; and often, this meant that she would know things before her classmates. Sometimes, of course, there were things that weren't written down – but these, she would eventually be able to discover. One way, or another.

Suffice to say that when the Flynn triplets received their strange, mechanical-looking broomstick from their mother, she was very much confounded by what it actually was. Permanent magical enchantments rarely worked on something as complex as machinery from what she had read in the third- and fourth- year Charms textbooks. Yet if it were truly mechanical, it didn't explain the glowing runes that covered every square inch of it (except for the name on its handle), or how it could fly without apparently having wings, propellers or an engine like any other aircraft. But their letter said their mother had made it with the help of an _engineering_ crew. Which definitely ruled out the broomstick being of magical origin, as wizards and witches seemed to have no use at all for engineers.

It was a mind-boggling contradiction, and one that she was glad to be distracted from by their Hogwarts shopping lists arriving.

"What do we need this year, 'Mione?" Zoe said, plopping down into the seat beside her.

"You mean, you haven't read yours yet?"

"Nope. Thought that you could just tell me,"

"Being lazy isn't going to get you anywhere, Zoe," sighed Hermione. Nevertheless, she held the letter up between the two of them so they could read it together.

 _Second-year students will require:_

 _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk  
 _Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
 _Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
 _Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
 _Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
 _Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
 _Wanderings with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
 _Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Zoe whistled lowly as she finished reading the list. "Oh. Oh dear. Mum's going to pop a vein when she sees this booklist. Textbooks aren't cheap, and...well..."

The copper-haired girl gestured in the direction of her sisters. "Yeah. Mum's really going to pop a vein,"

"They can't be that expensive," Hermione replied. Though when she saw Zoe's raised eyebrow, she was having second thoughts. "...Could they?"

* * *

"Ah. Miss Flynn. Please be patient. Account Manager Snapjaw will be with you shortly,"

Amanda nodded curtly. The goblins valued efficiency, and so did she. In the madhouse that was Wizarding Britain, Amanda could truly use a bit of sanity. In an effort to blend in more effectively with the rest of the wizards and witches, she had gone to Madam Malkin's to have herself fitted for some 'business-suitable robes'. Which, as it turned out, was just a set of ankle-length jet-black acromantula silk robes with silver trim. Why they couldn't simply accept suits as businesslike, she would never know; but one thing that she did know was that she utterly _hated_ having robes tailored. God only knew how many times she had been pricked by that infernal self-stitching needle that the witch used.

At least now she could blend more easily among the witches and wizards and not be ogled at while wandering through Diagon Alley. Wryly, she thought about the irony. Elsewhere in London, Orianna informed her that the wizards and witches dressed up as non-magicals to avoid detection. Here, she wore acromantula silk robes and a matching wide-brimmed pointed hat, masquerading as a well-off witch. Casting spells with a wand was still out of the question, of course; though at least after a light dose of liquid mana, she could perform a couple of very simple spells.

"Miss Flynn. How may I assist you today?" Snapjaw asked as he exited his office. He wore a broad grin on his face as he spotted her silver briefcase. "Another 'shipment' to be processed, is it?"

"Yes, but there is more to discuss, Snapjaw. We must speak in private,"

He bowed slightly and ushered her into his office. As soon as she had been seated, he closed the door with a flick of his hand and settled himself down behind his desk. "The privacy wards are now active, Mrs. Flynn. What can I do for you today?"

"Something that requires discretion. I need books and manuals on fundamental magic theory, Snapjaw,"

"Those are illegal, Miss Flynn, as you are no doubt well aware," Snapjaw replied, a crooked smirk on his lips. "But the laws of witches and wizards do not concern us goblins. And given your true allegiance, I would daresay that they do not apply to you, either,"

"Indeed. The laws I follow are those of the sovereign nation of Great Britain, and not this...Wizengamot's. We have discussed this several times before, Snapjaw. The payment for your discretion – and Gringotts' discretion – is as negotiated in prior meetings. They are contained in that briefcase. A gift from the _legitimate_ British nation to the goblin nation,"

Not that she had any right to say it under law, of course. However, as the sole contact point between the goblins and non-magical Britain until General Adams could have enough indisputable evidence on the existence of the magical world, so that they could present the matter to the Crown, she was ordered to act as a diplomat of sorts. More than slightly distasteful to her, given that politicians were given to half-truths, white lies and blackmail as opposed to presenting cold, hard information exactly as it was.

She placed her briefcase on the desk and opened it. Inside the briefcase were seven minuscule vials of a sapphire blue liquid, each with a little dropper on it. Snapjaw eyed each one hungrily, picking one of them up and holding it up to the light. His smile faltered slightly as he noted that its colour. Compared to the previous batch that she had given him, it was indeed slightly darker. "Is this the same medicine as before?" he asked suspiciously.

"Not quite. It has been improved since the last time we have exchanged them," she said, "It is a mixture of the original and a modified form of Blood-Replenishing Potion. The last I have tested it in a military hospital, it was capable of stabilising a soldier who had lost both his legs and an arm in just thirty seconds. Only three drops were applied to each wound,"

"If that is true...Remarkable. So little, yet so precious," murmured Snapjaw. "If only the Wizarding folk were half as generous with their discoveries..."

Amanda nearly scoffed. Generous with their discoveries. If he knew what she had discovered, she doubted that his disposition would remain the same. At the very least, Adams had not questioned her about turning mana crystals into weapons. To him, a convenient, compact power source was all they were – and nothing more. Not that he needed to know that it was possible to do much more horrific things with them.

"No. No, they wouldn't do that. Not now, not ever. Very well, Mrs. Flynn. How many doses are these worth, compared to the previous offering?"

"About the same. Enough to fix about seventy critical wounds. I trust that would be sufficient?"

"Oh, indeed so. Though we would not object to more, if you could acquire it," the goblin banker said. He sighed wistfully, eyeing a small pile of gold coins on his desk. "Gold can only go so far when wizards and witches have laws to prevent potions and other magical items from passing into the goblin nation. Something about 'protecting the safety of everyone', they said. But I believe that we are getting sidetracked here. You've given your offering for our discretion, and I'm certain that Director Ragnok would accept it. Do you have a list of books that you wish to acquire?"

Amanda shook her head. "Anything comprehensive on the fundamental theories of magic's inner workings,"

"That might complicate things, Mrs. Flynn. Your vault is...well, it is not as full as one might like," Snapjaw said, grimacing. "Rare books and ancient grimoires – particularly safe copies that are not riddled with protective magics – can be rather costly. Your vault might possibly be unable to cover that order,"

"Then let us make a deal. I understand that you are in desperate need for medicine, and I am in need of those books. Perhaps we could trade some more vials to cover the shortfall?"

The elderly goblin stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "Wizards are far from generous with their offers to trade us necessary supplies. If you are able to present a better offer to Director Ragnok, I daresay that we may be able to negotiate an offer which benefits all of us. But Director Ragnok is currently busy, and will be for the rest of the day. Would an appointment at a later date...perhaps next Monday, at ten in the morning, be suitable for you?"

"That will do, yes. Now, onto another item of business. I'd like to obtain a sample of goblin silver-"

"No. That is not an option at this time," Snapjaw said abruptly, his brows furrowing. He paused for a moment as he appeared to choose his next words carefully. "Nor in the foreseeable future. Goblin silver is exceedingly rare, and the goblin kingdoms all over the world have issued an order for the reclamation of all pieces where possible. I hope that you can see that my hands are tied regarding this matter,"

"I see. A pity. Well, perhaps in the future I hope that will not be the case, but I will not push. Now, on to matters of my account. I have received a book list from Hogwarts which...contains quite a few expensive items. A series of seven books by a single author, each one costing three Galleons! And I need to buy three copies of each. I'd like to retrieve one hundred Galleons, please,"

Snapjaw nodded and counted out the coins from the pile on his desk. Sweeping the whole lot into a spare pouch, he handed it to her. "I will take the balance from your vault, Miss Flynn," he said. With a quiet sniff, he added, "If it would make you feel a bit better, I have heard that same complaint from many other clients of ours. It appears that a certain celebrity wizard is having _quite_ a field day with being appointed a professor at Hogwarts,"

"If it is true, then I have no words for the headmaster's incompetence," Amanda grumbled. "Fame alone does not a good teacher make. I will be thoroughly scrutinising my daughters' progress this year, then,"

"A wise move. Well, if there is nothing else you need, Miss Flynn, perhaps I could see you out?"

"Thank you, Snapjaw, but that should not be necessary. Have a good day,"

As she set foot outside Gringotts, Amanda glanced at her watch. It was thirty minutes before noon; a little earlier than the time that she agreed to meet Lucille. But as luck would have it, her partner was already finished with acquiring the potion supplies and magical seedlings that they needed. "Does it really fit inside that?" Amanda asked, raising an eyebrow as she spotted the small green trunk that she was easily dragging behind her.

"Ma cherie, zis trunk 'as expansion charms on the inside. Eet is...shall we say, larger than our bedroom on the inside," Lucille giggled. She had an impish smirk on her face as she commented, "Mon dieu. If only I 'ad zis wondrous trunk while purchasing clothes,"

"Lucille, please. Don't you have enough shoes already?"

"Non. Zere can never be enough shoes in my wardrobe. Oh, don't look at me like zat, mon amour. I was simply jesting," Lucille said, giving Amanda an apologetic peck on the cheek. "Zat reminds me. I am sure that you 'ave written to our daughters zat you would be meeting 'er 'ere at noon. 'Ave you got ze gold that zey require to purchase zeir books?"

"Of course. And a little more to cover our expenditures," spoke Amanda. A slight frown marred her face as she continued in a low voice. "The vault is running rather low. Has Adams given us the additional funds we require?"

"Sixteen and a half thousand pounds, yes. Zat should be sufficient to exchange for another thousand Galleons. 'E did give a warning, 'owever, zat we need to produce more results more quickly. 'E can only allocate funds if 'e 'as results to show for it, after all,"

"Which is what I fear most," the scientist sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No matter. I will find a way to limit the damage my discoveries may cause. I think I hear our daughters approaching,"

Sure enough, she could hear Zoe's raucous laughter coming from the direction of the Leaky Cauldron side of Diagon Alley. Beside her was Aveline, who looked rather green for some reason, and a rather irritated-looking Orianna who was helping Aveline walk straight. There were also two of her friends; the bushy-haired daughter of that dentist, and the tiny brunette girl that was chortling merrily as they followed the triplets.

And of course, Mr. and Mrs. Davis. The couple were smiling as they watched their daughter having a fabulous time observing Zoe's antics.

At first, none of them had noticed either Amanda or Lucille standing near the bank. Only when Lucille cleared her throat and took off her hat did Zoe gasp in surprise. "Oh, wow. I honestly didn't notice you at all, mum!" she laughed, skipping towards Lucille and hugging her. "Robes and a hat? You didn't get a wand too, did you, mum?"

"Non. But if I did, you would be ze first to know," she replied playfully. "Ah, Monsieur and Madamoiselle Davis! 'Ow do you do, zis fine day?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Flynn. We are doing quite well, thank you. My, that is quite a fetching set of robes, isn't it? It suits you very well," Mrs. Davis replied with a slight chuckle. Her husband echoed her sentiments with a sunny smile and an overly energetic nod. "As for the little ones – well, perhaps I should have warned your daughter about the sensations of Floo travel. It's not as comfortable as driving here, I'm afraid,"

"I feel sick," moaned Aveline. "Are all magical ways of getting around supposed to make you feel like throwing up?"

"You get used to it after a while, dear," the petite brunette woman shrugged, "Your sisters don't appear to be taking it as badly as you are. Perhaps a bit of fresh air could help. Oh, where are my manners; I haven't even introduced myself properly to your companion! Good morning, dear; and who might you be?"

"Dr. Amanda Flynn," Amanda said, taking off her hat and offering a hand. "Pleased to meet you,"

Mrs. Davis arched an eyebrow in confusion. She looked once at Amanda, and then at Lucille; then back at Amanda, before looking over each of the triplets in turn. It took her about ten seconds to recover from her confusion before she grasped Amanda's hand and shook it hesitantly. "I'm sorry about that. I'm Valerie Davis, and this is my husband, William. I must say, I'm somewhat confused at the moment. I thought that Lucille was their mother after meeting them at the Granger household,"

"She is my partner," Amanda replied. Lucille inched somewhat closer and leaned against Amanda's shoulder, placing a hand on it reassuringly. "I trust there will not be any...issues?"

"Not at all, Dr. Flynn," William finally spoke up. If his furrowed brows were any indication, he was, like his wife, trying to process what he was hearing and seeing – and failing horribly. "I have to admit that I'm not quite familiar with your title. Does it indicate some sort of seniority?"

"William, that is not what it means!" Valerie said with a snort. "A doctor is...a non-magical healer. Someone that cures the sick and injured,"

"Oh,"

"Both of you are quite wrong," muttered Amanda under her breath.

"In most cases, yes, a doctor would be exactly as you describe," Lucille chimed in, giving Amanda a withering glare. "'Owever, zat is what my title is. A _medical_ doctor. I am Dr. Lucille Laurent, a medical practitioner. My intelligent and _charming_ partner 'ere-" she squeezed Amanda's shoulder tightly, pressing on that particular spot that felt quite like a blunt knife being driven into her shoulder – a clear message for her to _play nice,_ "-is a doctor of philosophy. A title given after proving her mastery in ze biological sciences,"

"So, a sort of Professor? Incredible!" exclaimed William. His eyes lit up with excitement; so much so, that Amanda was certain that she was looking at some prospective student at a university, rather than the middle-aged parent that he was. "There must be so much more that you could tell us about the workings of the muggle world, Mrs. Flynn!"

" _Dr._ Flynn," Amanda corrected him. "And yes, I suppose there could be much that we could discuss about the non-magical world. But not in the middle of the street. Perhaps another day, in the priv- _comfort_ of one of our homes,"

"A great idea! Maybe we should discuss things over some tea. I'm sure we'll have some _wonderful_ discussions. Why, I'm still not one-hundred-percent certain about how this electricity stuff works, and it'd be great to have a muggle perspective on it,"

"Dear, I've told you about how it works before," chided Valerie with an exaggerated sigh. "You just want to talk about other things, don't you? And by that I mean every single topic under the sun, taking up time from dawn to dusk till the early hours of the morning,"

"Ye—no. I mean, maybe?" he replied, flushing slightly. "Was I that obvious? I really want to know more about how things work in the muggle world,"

Amanda raised an eyebrow. Most wizards and witches that she had encountered gave an impression that magic was superior over technology, but clearly the Davis patriarch was some sort of muggle enthusiast. Perhaps she could gather some more information from him, in exchange for some harmless or commonly-known bits of information on the non-magical world. "I...suppose that would be acceptable. A weekend should work for both of us, I believe. Does the magical world follow the five-day working week? I'm not entirely sure,"

"Yes, we do. We aren't _that_ detached from the muggle world, you know. Tracey, what is it?"

"C'mon dad, Gilderoy Lockhart's already at Flourish and Blotts!" his daughter cried out. She was bouncing up and down on her toes in excitement. Excitement that, Amanda noted, was not shared by any of her three daughters, who simply looked rather nonplussed. Mrs. Davis' eyes, however, had glazed over at the mention of Lockhart simply being around.

"Oh, you. Of course you'd be interested in seeing the man, wouldn't you?" chuckled William. "Valerie, please. You're starting to drool,"

"And who is this Lockhart fellow exactly?"

"You don't know Gilderoy?!" yelped Valerie, snapping out of her daydream and fixing Amanda with a horrified stare. "The winner of the _Witch Weekly_ 's Most-Charming-Smile award for _four_ times in a row? Vanquisher of vampires, banisher of banshees, trouncer of trolls?"

"And the writer of all those textbooks, I assume. I saw the sign outside Flourish and Blotts. Other than that, I know nothing of the man," Amanda said matter-of-factly.

It didn't take long before Valerie dragged a protesting Amanda down the length of Diagon Alley, insisting that she needed to be 'educated about the wondrous feats of Gilderoy Lockhart'. The rest of the group followed soon after; Lucille was struggling to contain her laughter when she saw Amanda being pushed into the crowd of wizards and witches (well, mostly witches) that had filled up the bookstore to the brim. Hermione and Tracey soon ushered in the other three girls, driving them in while talking animatedly about the many virtues of the author.

* * *

"Mon dieu. Is zat him?" Lucille gasped, eyeing the life-size poster of Gilderoy Lockhart. The poster was showing him in all his colourful glory. Luscious blond locks cascaded down his shoulders, like rivers of spun gold. Robes of luminous periwinkle billowed about him, trimmed with lavish amounts of silver. Both his arms were raised high; rivers of red sparks fell from the wand in his right hand, apparently casting some spell at a gigantic bipedal wolf-man. All while beaming at everyone that passed by, flashing his perfect, pearly-white and even teeth in what she supposed was intended to be a winning smile.

Truth be told, Lucille could only see a preening peacock in the form of a man. All style and no substance. Why would anyone need to look stylish while in a life-threatening situation? It made little sense to her.

"You aren't falling for him as well, are you?" groaned William.

"Non! Never. I only 'ave eyes for my partner, Monsieur Davis. Men do not 'old my interest at all, though I'll 'ave to admit that zis man does seem...pleasing enough to ze eye. I was just curious about 'ow he looks so...mmm...'ow do you say it? Like a...foolish fop,"

William snorted and nearly toppled over in laughter after those words had left Lucille's lips. "Wow. And here I thought that I wouldn't ever hear someone else say something like that," he choked out. "Sorry. Yes, I think he is as well. But every time I hear about the books that he's written, apparently they're so vivid that he's definitely done them. I guess you'll be able to find out for yourself once our daughters all get their books,"

As Lucille looked into the store, she caught a glimpse of the man that was giving out autographs on books. He stood on a richly-decorated pedestal, illuminated by flashes of cameras as he waved merrily every which way. Even as he clamped an unwilling black-haired boy under one arm, he was flinging away kisses to swooning witches and winking in an apparent attempt to steal their affections. Clearly, he was a master of playing crowds and gathering popularity.

Yet the only thing that the doctor felt towards the man was suspicion. She had treated enough servicemen and women in her days as a medical doctor in the employ of the military. Most of them that had returned from wars wore a haunted, despondent look; as though the joy of living had left their very souls, never to return. More than one had contemplated ending their own lives, by either substance abuse or gun. And not a single one of them that had actually fought on the front lines gloried in combat.

No, the only ones that did such things were the politicians, from the safety of their desks and offices. And looking at Lockhart's immaculately-groomed hair and unblemished features, she had little doubt in her mind that there was something not quite right about him.

* * *

A/N:

Welp, the most fantastically fabulous man is in the house, and he's giving those smiles that would make quite a few people swoon.

A heads up, however; since I am currently in the process of relocating, I will have little time to write or do much else until I've settled down again. It will be some time before the next update.

Tyry95: Well, considering the number of stories floating around, it's very difficult to find a truly unique story. At best, there are takes of a trope from a different angle. As far as the Independent Harry cliche is concerned, this story isn't focused on Harry. It might be a side-plot to let him know about what he actually is, but in no way are the girls going to go out of their way to help the Boy-Who-Became-Famous-Over-Nothing. Dark lord Dumbledork, however, remains to be seen. Powerful as he is, running a school with such a negligent attitude to student safety does not earn points with any parent, in my opinion.

Julius Maxim: Muggles think magic is backwards and archaic, and magic people think that muggle inventions are useless. Never mind that Wizarding Radio is basically just a magical version of a muggle invention, and that they flagrantly use muggle items and enchant them (Hogwarts Express, anyone? Or Platform Nine and Three Quarters?). It's a misunderstanding and a whole lot of belittling on both sides.

x2leoj: They're first years getting on to second years. 12-year-old girls. Why would they _not_ be chummy with their friends?

sadark: Good to hear that you're enjoying it.

Axel Fones: Yep, sticking to someone with an (apparent) mental illness takes a hell of a lot of dedication. And to do it for 10+ years afterwards? Definite keeper for sure. Triplets? More like sextuplets, but I'm not sure if clones count.


	19. Of Petrified Cats and Mudbloods

It wasn't long before the Flynn triplets found themselves back on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The holidays blew past them rather quickly, considering the number of things that they were doing. Aveline thought it odd that their mother had insisted on them finding some more _proper_ books on Defence Against the Dark Arts, citing that the books that they had been assigned were a 'grandiose work of fiction', and little else. Not that they could find anything else, of course; the shelves of Flourish and Blotts in that particular section were filled entirely with Professor Lockhart's books.

Truth be told, after meeting Professor Lockhart himself, Aveline found it very difficult to get the books out of her mind. The man was so charismatic, so handsome, so _enthralling_. She swooned when the man waved and flashed his perfectly even pearly-white teeth to the gathered crowd in the bookstore, just as many other girls and women did. She clung to his every word as he spoke in that rich, warm voice of his, her heart skipping a beat every time he winked in her direction. Even now, she felt her pulse quicken just that little bit every time picture-Lockhart smiled and waved towards her from one of the books' covers.

"Oooh, looks like Aveline has it _bad_ for our newest Professor," teased Zoe, elbowing the 'youngest' triplet. Aveline hastily put her copy of _Gadding with Ghouls_ into her trunk, hoping that nobody else saw her drooling over Professor Lockhart's picture.

Something that they had devised to avoid further confusion. Their mother did mention how they were identical triplets 'created' from her genetic material, though the way that Orianna almost always led the group led to others thinking that somehow Orianna was their older sister. And so the ordering stuck; Orianna being their eldest sister, and she being their youngest.

"Zoe, you are no less guilty than Aveline is for reading too much of that tosh," Orianna sighed exasperatedly. "You have no idea about how _irritating_ it is to hear that you two idolising that fraud,"

"I-I do _not_!" Zoe stammered hotly. She was blushing beet red, however, betraying her embarrassment.

"The two posters of Lockhart in your room say otherwise,"

Zoe fell silent immediately after, though they way she was glowering at Orianna's retreating back promised at least one week of pranks on their eldest sister. "Come on, Zoe, I'm sure Ori didn't mean to be mean to you," Aveline said. "Hey, isn't that...DAPHNE!"

It was indeed Daphne, coming down the stairs from the Floo terminal on the upper parts of the platform. The blonde was all wrapped up in some expensive-looking black robe with an emerald green sash, pulling _two_ trunks behind her; a silver one, that Aveline recognised as hers, and a copper-coloured one that she did not. And to her side was someone that resembled a smaller version of Daphne; only that she had lustrous raven hair that gleamed brightly in sunlight.

"Aveline, please keep your voice down. It is not becoming of a young lady to scream in public," Daphne spoke primly. Evidently, she was trying to set a good example to her sister; an example that her sister was definitely not following, if her barely-suppressed chortling was any indication. "May I introduce you to my younger sister, Astoria Greengrass,"

"Hi!" Astoria said brightly. She gave a yelp of pain when Daphne flicked her ear. "Ow, Daphy-oh, fine, geez. Hello, I'm Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's little sister and her punching bag,"

"Oh, I like her already," Zoe chuckled, "You going to let that one slide, Daphy?"

The blonde looked about ready to yell at her sister, though the sight of numerous students emerging from the platform barrier seemed to cause her to reconsider. "We will discuss this later, Tori," Daphne grumbled. "Well? Are the rest of you going to stand around on the platform until the train departs? Let's get a compartment of our own before _Malfoy_ arrives,"

"Point taken, Daphy. C'mon, girls, let's get our trunks on before the ferret comes along to ruin our morning,"

* * *

Astoria, it seemed, was rather different to Daphne. Very much so. While the elder Greengrass prided herself on propriety and formality, Astoria seemed focused entirely on having as much fun as possible. Whether that was at the expense of others or not seemed to matter little to her.

Which led to the current situation where the youngest Slytherin of their group, on the first day of term, joined their morning exercises as 'moral support'. Specifically, one that was allowed to pelt the slowest runner with dungbombs if they fell too far behind. Astoria was all too happy to accept the role from Orianna, who was fiercely determined on getting all the girls back up to their pre-holiday physical fitness levels. An hour later, Hermione and Daphne had to have their clothes magically cleansed before getting washed up in their respective bathrooms. Both girls resembled walking blobs of fluffy white bubbles as they trudged back towards their dorms, though at least Hermione didn't have a madly giggling younger sister tormenting her all the way.

"I hate you both," Daphne groused, glaring at both Orianna and Astoria as she sat down to have her breakfast. It had taken her a huge amount of shampoo to finally get the horrible stench out of her hair.

"There can be no gain without pain, Daphne. A fact that your sister appears to recognise all too well, and was very happy to assist me with," deadpanned the eldest Flynn triplet as she tore into another chunk of bacon. "And it seems to me that you have lost much of the progress we have made last year,"

"It is not as though I have the luxury of being able to go and do as I please at home, Orianna," she hissed angrily. "Unlike my sister, my father and mother have certain expectations of how a _proper heiress_ should behave,"

"Girls, chill out. It's way too early to be having a cat fight," Tracey teased them both. "What do we have first today, anyway? Oooh, wait, I remember now. Double Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Fabulous!"

"That explains the little love hearts that you've drawn around those periods, Tracey. Wait, why are you-oh, goodness me. Not you two as well, Zoe and Aveline? And you too, Hermione?"

When both of her sisters simply shared a look and grinned, Orianna groaned and dropped her head into her hands. Why they couldn't see the foolish fop exactly as he was, she could not fathom.

Things did not get much better from there for either Orianna or Daphne. The first period of DADA that they had involved a questionnaire. At first, Orianna was somewhat surprised; an examination on the first lesson of the school year was hardly something that she could expect. Yet when she read the first of the questions, her doubts about Professor Lockhart only continued to grow.

Because what self-respecting teacher would write questions entirely about topics that did not concern his subject? What did it matter what shampoo he used, what candle scents he liked, and what his favourite robe colour was? She was certain that a ghoul couldn't possibly care any less about any of those facts.

It only got worse from there when he had called both girls up to explain their zero marks. At the front of the class, no less, embarrassing both of them. And then Hermione had been called up immediately after, to be praised for seemingly knowing every fact under the sun that there was to know about Gilderoy Lockhart.

Then, to close off the lesson, Lockhart had apparently decided to let loose a bunch of feral Cornish pixies on the class. Without even explaining what they were, how they were (possibly) dangerous, or how to deal with them. Not that Lockhart could give them any pointers anyway, seeing as the pixies immediately chased him under the teachers' desk with one of his lavender-scented candelabras.

Thus began a period of complete, utter chaos. Students ran this way and that, bowling over tables and chairs as they desperately tried to not get caught by the chittering, manic blue creatures. Inkwells, quills, books and bags flew through the air, courtesy of the pixies; Neville Longbottom was even hauled up to the iron chandelier, where he dangled for the rest of the period. Everyone else either cowered under what tables still remained intact, or were fruitlessly dodging the storm of stationery that was flying about the classroom.

The Gryffindors, vaunted for bravery and boldness as they were, bolted from the classroom as soon as the end of period bell rang. Including Zoe and Tracey, much to Orianna's annoyance. Hot on their tails were the Slytherins closest to the door. Before Daphne or Orianna could leave, however, Lockhart threw himself between them and the door.

"I'm afraid that the pixies are still loose, dears," he chuckled, flashing them what was supposedly a charming smile. "Could you all please-ah, pack them away-and have them brought to my office?"

"You will assist us, will you not, Professor?" asked Daphne, crossing her arms, unimpressed.

"Oh, I would, if I did not already have an urgent meeting to attend. I'm sure you understand why I have to leave immediately, yes? Besides, I'm absolutely sure that you two - and Miss Granger - are capable enough of handling a few loose pixies,"

Before either of the two remaining Slytherins could even get another word out, Lockhart had slinked out of the door and slammed it shut behind him. Orianna swore that she could hear the rapid tapping of his well-heeled boots on the stone floor as he made a hasty getaway. "Wonderful," she snarked; a pixie tried to grab her hair, only for its face to be made _very_ close acquaintances with her fist. "Our teacher is _very_ competent, isn't he? Hermione?"

"I'm sure that he's just wanting to give us some hands-on experience," she replied smartly, stunning one of them that started to fly a bit too close.

"That may well be the first accurate thing I've heard all class. Hands-on, indeed," Daphne sighed, watching as Orianna grabbed one and slammed it into the nearest wall. Several bits of what looked like pixie teeth tumbled down to the floor; needless to say, the pixie was limp in her hands. "Inefficient, the both of you. _Glacius Maxima_!"

A wave of frost burst out of Daphne's wand and froze every single pixie in the room. As well as everything else in the room, leaving both Orianna and Hermione shivering in the cold. "Are you witches or not?" she said incredulously, "Go on, warm yourselves up. A Warming Charm isn't too difficult for either of you, is it?"

* * *

From that day onwards, Orianna detested Lockhart more and more. She wondered exactly what they were supposed to be learning; the man was overly fond of his own voice (and looks), gloried in the adoration of students (particularly female ones, many of whom seemed to swoon in his presence), and taught absolutely nothing of value. His books described his exploits in extremely vivid detail, yet the man exhibited none of the vaunted competence that he was supposedly capable of. Why, the pixie incident repeated itself no less than six times over the next two months, with various creatures that were no more dangerous than they were.

In fact, Orianna began to wonder exactly why the subject was called Defence Against the Dark Arts when all they seemed to deal with were common Wizarding household pests. Once or twice, she had gotten herself into a detention for speaking up about her concerns. And rather than lecture her about the subject that he taught, the professor actually got her to _answer his fan mail_.

And after the third evening of exactly that happening, she was absolutely _livid_. She didn't care that she was leaving cracked stone tiles as she stomped down to the dungeons at nine in the evening, leaving dumbfounded students in her wake. She missed the Halloween feast thanks to the detention, and that meant three hours of listening to Lockhart prattle on about his supposed achievements. On an empty stomach, no less.

"Supremacy," she grumbled to the dungeon archway. The bricks shifted seemingly of their own volition, revealing the archway to the lavishly-decorated dungeon that was the Slytherin common room.

No sooner had she stepped in than a short, brunette missile tackled her about her midriff. "Hey, Ori," Astoria chirped cheerfully, "Daphy was wondering where you'd been. We didn't see you at the feast,"

"Of course none of you would have. The blond ponce had me answering his fan mail,"

"Which one? You mean Draco?"

The absurd idea of Draco Malfoy having someone send mail to him was enough to crack Orianna's foul mood. She snorted in amusement once, before she eventually burst into uncharacteristically loud giggles. "Oh, I will have to remember that one, Astoria. You have an...active imagination," she choked out between giggles. "No, I meant Lockhart. I had detention with him-"

Astoria gasped loudly. "No way. He made you do detention? On _Halloween_?!"

Orianna nodded once curtly. "Wow. That's just...wow, Ori, I didn't know. I would've saved you a cauldron cake. Or a dozen,"

"A dozen cauldron cakes does sound rather appealing," Orianna admitted. Her stomach rumbled loudly; a reminder that she had hardly eaten anything. "Where is Daphne, by the way?"

"Oh, she went up to the library with 'Mione. She said she had some potion or another to study,"

"That certainly does sound like Daphne and Hermione. How are you settling into Slytherin, by the way?"

A mischievous grin split Astoria's fair face. "Wouldn't you like to know," replied Astoria playfully, "I'll just say that I need to get some more dungbombs from the Weasley twins on Saturday. I run out of them soooo quickly when Malfoy's around,"

"On second thought, maybe I shouldn't have asked. I don't want to hear about it, Astoria," sighed Orianna. Daphne would certainly wring her little sister's neck if she knew what the little hellion had been up to. An unpleasant realisation dawned on Orianna as she reflected on what Astoria had just said. "Wait. You mentioned the _Weasley Twins_?!" she groaned, "How on earth did you manage to win their approval?"

"Oh, I may have gotten Peeves to go after Filch on the second week of school. When they had a detention, of course," replied Astoria airily. "Well, Zoe did most of the work. Who knew that Peeves would agree to do that in exchange for a box of paintballs?"

"Wonderful. It's only a few weeks in, and my sister is already teaching you her terrible, terrible habits," sighed Orianna resignedly.

"Hey! They're _useful_ habits!" protested Astoria. "Malfoy wouldn't leave me alone until every one of his books smelled like the greenhouses. I'd say that's a good thing,"

"I suppose so-"

Before Orianna could say another word, a loud rumble told her that the Slytherin dungeons' door had opened once more. Dozens of students strolled through, chatting animatedly in high spirits. The red-headed girl would have said that was likely due to the festivities of that evening; but when she saw the malicious grins on many of their faces, she thought otherwise. Tracey, however, looked rather put-out and pale, while Daphne wore a decidedly stormy expression. "Daphne, did something happen?" she asked of the blonde heiress.

"Filch's cat was petrified," she replied darkly. "Get to our dorm. Now. I will explain more once we get there. And Astoria, you will be moving into our dorms,"

"But I'm not a second year,"

"You will do as I say, Astoria Demetra Greengrass. It's for your own safety. Now get your trunk and move your things into our dorm. Or do you want me to write to mother about your disobedience?"

"Pfft. No fair," whined Astoria, as she flounced off towards the girls' dorms.

In ten minutes' time, the four Slytherin girls were seated on their respective beds in their dorm. Unlike the first year dorms, each of the second year ones only had enough room for three beds at a time. Which, thankfully, meant that Daphne, Tracey and Orianna could share a dorm without any others in it. Well, with the small addition of Astoria in it, who seemed happy enough to stick close to her elder sister.

"Alright. So, would you care to explain what happened to Filch's cat?" Orianna asked, crossing her arms.

"It was petrified. By what, we don't know," Daphne spoke. "Neither do the teachers. I know that father and mother are capable of casting petrification spells - not the Body-Bind Curse, mind you, but the spell that turns flesh to stone - but I think those are spells far beyond what any student could cast in Hogwarts,"

"Hm. So what could possibly cause it?"

"That's exactly what bothers me. I don't know what could have possibly done it, but there was a threatening message written above that cat. 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware,' - and it looked like it was written in blood,"

"Oooh, scary," Astoria drawled mockingly. "It's probably just a prank, Daphy. I mean, Fred was talking about this Petrifying Pastille that he was trying to make over the holidays. Maybe they were trying to test it?"

"That doesn't fit with what they normally do, Tori," Tracey muttered.

"I have to agree with Tracey. They don't normally prank someone to cause harm, as irritating as they could be. Still, what is more worrying is Malfoy,"

The mention of Malfoy had Orianna narrowing her eyes. "What about Malfoy?" she growled, fingering her wand almost reflexively.

"He was howling with glee about the fate of the cat. And on top of that, he was shouting about how 'Mudbloods' would be next, as the Chamber of Secrets was open. Look, I am not saying that you should be scared of Malfoy - Merlin knows that you and I both enjoy seeing him humiliated - just...be careful, alright? If Malfoy knows something about the Chamber, then maybe he knows something more about it. And you too, Tracey - I've overheard Pucey that some of the older Slytherins would want nothing more than to rid Slytherin of anyone that isn't pure-blooded,"

"That's old news, Daphy, but thanks anyway. But what about Ori? I mean, she beat up Malfoy's goons last year, but I don't think any of us can handle one of the older ones in a magical duel if they want to fight,"

"And especially not if we have Professor Useless in charge of Defence Agains the Dark Arts," Orianna remarked bitterly.

* * *

A/N:

And so the threat grows. A danger within the house, and a danger without. And to top it all off, there is (yet again) an incompetent in charge of DADA. Let's see if she can find a way past the huge quandary looming on the horizon!

Apologies for the long delay. This one's been sitting around for a while, but I've had no chance to upload it. Just had internet access restored.


	20. Gathering Storm

If there was one thing about Hogwarts that was incredibly impressive, it was the extent to which the castle seemed to know exactly what the students needed. On the first night that Astoria had slept in Daphne's dorm, she had shared the bed with her elder sister. On the second, however, the room had magically expanded and had an extra four-poster bed inside. Which was fine by Daphne since she did not sleep a wink on the first night; her sister was infuriatingly clingy while sleeping, seemingly hell-bent on squeezing the breath out of her elder sister with her spindly little arms.

Despite Pucey's oft-repeated sayings of how he would do something to the half-bloods and muggleborns of Slytherin, nothing of note had happened for the rest of the year. Once or twice, there had been Filibuster Fireworks set under chairs where Orianna or Tracey would sit down; several times, dungbombs; and one time, a wad of undiluted bubotuber pus that had thankfully melted out of its balloon container before either of them could sit on it. Every time, however, the pranks were untraceable, with none of the students claiming responsibility.

The only hint indicating who had set them were the subtle smirks that Daphne swore the older students had; but they were far too careful to be caught.

At least they were pranks that caused no permanent harm. Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, remained the only permanent patient in the Hospital Wing. Whatever had inflicted the curse on the cat seemed to have vanished. Yet if one thing was clear, the student rumour mills were not about to stop discussing the source of the curse anytime soon.

In fact, it had gotten to the point where a certain Gryffindor with a conspicuous scar on his forehead asked the History of Magic ghost, Professor Binns, about the history of the Chamber of Secrets. Which, naturally, was dismissed as a mere fantastical tale about a chamber that Slytherin constructed without the knowledge of the other founders.

Yet even that triggered the rumours to reach even wilder new heights. The knowledge that the Chamber of Secrets was supposedly built by Slytherin painted a target on every Slytherin's back; as naturally, the other foolish students thought, every Slytherin would know of its existence and know of how to use whatever 'dark' things were inside. Baseless claims, but those that brought much harm to innocent Slytherins that had nothing to do with it.

"These Gryffindorks really don't know when to stop, do they?" Tracey grumbled under her breath, as several of them shot dirty looks in the girls' direction. "We're only trying to get to Professor Fabulous' class,"

"I think you meant to say, Professor Useless," muttered Orianna.

"Oh, hush. He's not that bad. Anyway, what's he teaching today? I heard that Professor Snape wasn't happy at all about being asked to come along for class,"

Daphne arched an eyebrow curiously. What would Professor Snape be required for in a Defence Against the Dark Arts class?

"Well, I hope that Professor Snape would be the one teaching the class then," said Orianna hopefully. "He cannot possibly do worse than Useless,"

Daphne found it incredibly hard to suppress a chuckle when she saw Orianna's expression on entering the DADA classroom. Gone were the rows of beat-up desks, destroyed by dastardly pixies; so too, were the shoddily-repaired seats that used to sit behind them. As the red-headed girl's eyes scanned the classroom, her eyes twitched as she noticed that the stone seats that she and her sisters had been sitting on for the last few weeks had likewise vanished. "Those stones took a long time to find in the forest!" she snarled under her breath.

"Well, look on the bright side. At least it seems we may be learning something useful after all," Daphne spoke, eyeing the stage that had been erected inside the classroom. The low wooden platform stretched from end to end, with conspicuous lines marked in luminous white paint on it at measured distances. One side had little sapphires embedded every two feet on the white lines, while the other had tiny rubies in them. For someone who had often attended many social events and gatherings in 'noble' activities, Daphne knew for certain what she was looking at.

A dueling piste.

"Welcome, welcome!" Professor Lockhart announced, beaming brightly to the slowly gathering class. "Come along, get inside now - we'll be learning something _very_ exciting today. Something more exciting than my previous classes, I assure you; not that they were _not_ exciting, but this particular class will get your blood pumping,"

"If getting rid of household pests was exciting, I struggle to think of a situation that isn't exciting," muttered Orianna as she glowered in the direction of the professor.

"Today, we'll be learning about the fine art of dueling. Yes, children, isn't _that_ exciting? You'll be learning about how to handle opponents that are more persistent than pixies! More cantankerous than centaurs! And certainly as aggressive as acromantulas! Yes, that is correct; your opponents today will be...your fellow students!"

Most of the Slytherins bared menacing grins to their Gryffindor counterparts. A gesture that was largely returned in kind by the boys, and with scornful gazes by most of the girls. Daphne had to wonder exactly how did this Professor get the idea of setting up a duelling class between Slytherin and Gryffindor. It wasn't a secret that the two houses were rivals; in fact, it could likely be said that their rivalry had reached legendary proportions over the last few decades. Giving the students of the two houses an excuse to attack each other, supervised or otherwise, was definitely a terribly thought up idea.

"Today, we will be learning how to defend ourselves against most common curses, hexes and jinxes. Now, who is able to tell me about the charm that I used to protect myself against the worst of the hag's spellfire in _Holidays with Hags_? Ah, if it isn't my number one fan! Yes, Miss Granger?"

"The Shield Charm," Hermione called out, "The incantation is _Protego_ , and the wand movement is a straight stroke in a direction,"

"I couldn't have said it better myself. Take ten points for Gryffindor!" he exclaimed, causing Hermione to very nearly glow with pride. "Now, as the Shield Charm naturally needs to deflect a spell, I have brought an assistant with me. Please welcome Professor Snape, who has so willingly agreed to be my helper for this lesson,"

Orianna snorted. "Professor Snape? A _willing_ assistant?" she whispered, "I hardly think so. He looks as though he has devoured a whole lemon,"

With a grand flourish that was definitely not part of the wand movements - including wiggling his fingers in his wand hand - Lockhart managed to somehow drop his wand while demonstrating how to cast the Shield Charm. "Oops. My wand got over-excited," he said loudly to the class, all while smiling widely. "Now, how about we try that again? I will demonstrate the Shield Charm while Severus casts a spell that I will block. On the count of three, Severus. One...two...thr-"

"Expelliarmus," Snape lazily incanted, and Professor Lockhart's wand sailed out of his outstretched hand and into Professor Snape's own. All the fancy wand movements and exaggerated mouthing of the spell's incantation came to naught. Not even the faintest shimmer appeared to disrupt Professor Snape's Disarming Spell.

"Ah...well, yes, that is also one way to deal with an opponent! Wonderful casting, wonderful casting indeed, Severus - almost as good as I was while I was dealing with the Bulgarian-"

"Enough!" Snape snapped, causing Lockhart to shrink backwards. He tossed Lockhart's wand back to its proper owner, though he continued to glower at the man. "We have wasted far too much time. Potter, come here,"

The Boy-Who-Lived reluctantly stepped forward. "Attempt to cast the Shield Charm," Snape commanded, "A straight, sharp stroke of a wand. If you are not such a dunderhead, you will be able to cast this without much effort,"

Potter nodded and drew a sharp downward stroke with his wand. "Protego!" he called out; a faint, nearly imperceptible shimmer was all he got for his efforts.

"A feeble attempt, Potter. Truly, I should not expect anything more of you," sneered Snape. "Well, Professor Lockhart, perhaps it is time that you started to show your...expertise...by actually teaching this unruly mob,"

"O-of course, Severus. Students, if you would please divide yourselves into pairs and line up on the blue and red lines with your partners..."

"That would be our cue. Tracey, you should go with Hermione," Daphne said. "I'll go with Orianna,"

The students slowly shuffled off into pairs. Professor Snape seemed to make a point of breaking up pairs of students and putting Gryffindors up against Slytherins. Tracey and Hermione he seemed to have no problems with; Zoe had been paired with Bulstrode, separated from Potter; though when he came to Daphne and Orianna, he sneered and had a quick look around.

"Ah. Miss Greengrass," he said silkily, eyeing Orianna with distaste. "It appears that we have too few Gryffindors to match you against. A pity that you were unable to find a more...appropriate partner. Mister Malfoy appears to be still without a partner, and so is Mister Goyle. Go on, then; you will work with Mister Malfoy, and Miss Flynn will work with Mister Goyle for today,"

Daphne gritted her teeth but nodded. The first rule of Slytherin was that they needed to show outward solidarity, and that certainly included not disobeying their own head of house in public. And so Daphne forced herself to slowly walk towards Malfoy, who wore a truly revolting predatory smirk on his lips. A quick glance to her side showed that Orianna looked absolutely murderous as she stood in front of Goyle. Both were cracking their knuckles in an attempt to intimidate the other.

"Ready to lose, Greengrass?" Malfoy sneered. "You know, your father was speaking to mine a few weeks back. Some things that I heard from father were rather interesting,"

Daphne remained silent. As irritating and self-aggrandising as the Malfoy boy was, there was often a grain of truth in every bucketload of verbal manure he spouted out. At least she didn't have to actively sneak up on someone to gather information this way. "Such as?" she asked coolly, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd be honoured to be my wife when the time comes, Greengrass. After all, you would need someone of proper birth and upbringing to properly guide you in the world,"

Daphne sniffed dismissively. "That's certainly news to my ears. If you didn't tell me that you were properly brought up, Malfoy, I certainly wouldn't know. And even after you told me that you were, I'm still quite uncertain whether or not that is fact or fiction. Both the proper birth and the proper upbringing, that is,"

"You'll pay for that, Greengrass," Malfoy hissed, his eyes narrowing and his cheeks going scarlet.

"And what would you do, hm? Roll around on the ground with your hands cupping your family jewels? Oh, wait, what jewels? I'm fairly certain that Orianna broke them last year,"

"-now, Disarming Charms and Shield Charms only. On the count of three, two-"

"TARANTALLEGRA!" Malfoy screamed, whipping out his wand. A jet of green shot out of his wand and narrowly missed Daphne's ear. "STUPEFY! FLIPENDO!"

"Stop! Stop!" Lockhart yelled, "Disarming and Shield Charms only!"

But Malfoy was not about to let up. Another three Stunning Spells sailed through the air, each one narrowly dodged by the Greengrass heiress, followed by another two Jelly-legs Jinxes and a pair of Bat-Bogey Hexes. Once or twice, the heiress actually had to shield away a few of the more harmful hexes.

"Really, Malfoy?" Daphne mocked him, "You could not hit a dragon's backside if you were within arms' reach of it. Your movements look like you are in slow motion!"

His pale face turned an ugly shade of puce. Enraged, he shouted out 'Diffindo!'; a broad, cross-shaped blue blade of light shot out of his wand, overpowered by rage. Daphne's eyes widened and she hastily threw up a shield; which instantly shattered the moment that the overpowered Severing Charm struck it.

All that she could see was the blue of the cutter - and then, her vision went white with pain. Shrieking in agony, she fell to her knees and clutched her face with both her hands, wand forgotten. The class burst into panic; angry yells from both Slytherins and Gryffindors, with the Professors shouting over one another. Eventually, the class was silenced after one of them let out a couple of cannon blasts from their wand. A couple of disarming charms saw her wand sailing out of her hand and likely into Snape's hand; and probably Malfoy's own too.

Only when she cracked open her eyes and dared to shift away her hands did she notice something more that was horribly, horribly wrong. Her vision was blurry; and something sticky and red seemed to be gluing her eyelids together every time she blinked. Tracey and Hermione were both swimming in her right eye's vision, unfocused; though out of her left, she noted both looked extremely concerned.

"Alright, Daphy - nice and slow, sit yourself up," Zoe whispered in her ear. A strong arm wrapped about her shoulders guided her up, while something damp was dabbing at her face. The pain was quickly receding away, as was the flow of the sticky liquid dripping into her eyes. "Wow, mum wasn't kidding. This dittany stuff actually works,"

"I will not ask for why you keep that on you, Miss Flynn, but...one point for Gryffindor, for being prepared to give prompt assistance," Professor Snape spoke, in a deathly calm manner. In his eyes, however, Daphne could see his nearly apopleptic wrath. "Mister Malfoy. Explain yourself. Why did you not follow the instructions?"

"She insulted my family, sir," the boy protested. "She claimed that I was born and raised improperly, and that my father and mother did not do a good enough job of it. I'm only claiming my right to defend my family's honour,"

"Is this true, Miss Greengrass?"

She gritted her teeth. The little blond ponce had twisted her own words. Professor Snape was rather skilled in Legilimency; both her parents had said as much. Lying would not do her any good, and technically Malfoy did not even lie about her insults. Arguing otherwise would be both pointless and merely aggravating the problem she was in. "I suppose that is technically true, but-"

"Three days' detention, Miss Greengrass, for provoking Mister Malfoy. And you, Mister Malfoy, will also be serving detention. For a week. Both of your parents will be informed of this incident,"

Not a single person spoke up at the travesty that was Snape's judgement. _She_ was getting a detention, after Malfoy decided to attack after a _verbal_ insult. An attack actually causing an injury! Either they were too terrified of detentions with Snape - or the Gryffindors simply didn't care for what happened to her. Typical of them, considering the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry.

And the less said about the other Slytherins' opinions on her befriending Muggleborns and half-bloods, the better.

"That's a steaming pile of dragon shite," Zoe said bluntly, drawing gasps of surprise from all present. If she were not in so much pain, Daphne would have snorted in amusement at the other Flynn sister's audacity. Not many would dare to stand up to Snape.

"Are you questioning the judgement of a staff member, Miss Flynn?" Snape whispered coolly in reply.

"You damn well bet I am! Daphy might have insulted ferret boy - Malfoy, I mean - but I didn't see a single hex or curse out of her wand! Only a Shield Charm! She followed the instructions!" snapped the redhead. "You put her in detention-"

"As she has deliberately provoked Mister Malfoy. If you feel so strongly about the matter, Miss Flynn, you can join Miss Greengrass for detention as well," hissed Snape. He seemed rather furious with the idea that a student was daring to talk back to him. "And-"

"I might be many things, _dungeon bat._ A prankster? Troublemaker? Yep, I'll own up to those. But a coward hiding behind titles? That's not one of them. You, though..."

"DETENTION! FOR A MONTH!" roared Snape furiously. "How _dare_ you speak to a teacher that way, Miss Flynn! Fifty points from Gryffindor! My office. NOW!"

"Fine, _dungeon bat_. I never wanted to be part of this useless class anyway," snorted Zoe. True to her word, she upped and stalked out of the room, leaving astonished students in her wake.

"How dare-the gall of that girl-in all my years, I've never..." grumbled Snape. He cast a sidelong glance towards Daphne and gritted his teeth. "Davis! Granger! Get Miss Greengrass to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey will have to make sure that nothing permanent happens to her. What are the rest of you dunderheads just standing around for? Get on with practicing your Shield Charms and Disarming Charms!"

As Daphne was led out of the room, she caught one last sight of Orianna. The cold fury on her face sent shivers down her spine; it was certainly something that she did not want to face. Doubly so when she could physically _feel_ the cold aura pouring out of every pore of the girl's being.

* * *

"Wow, Ori, what's the rush? Where are you going with the broom?" Tracey called out after Orianna after she saw the redhead storm out of their dorms, metal broom in hand.

"What do you think, Tracey? What else would someone do with a broomstick?" she snarked acidly, causing the brunette to flinch in surprise. "I have detention with Professor Snape all week long. Along with my nitwit of a sister! I need some time to myself. Or at least with just Aveline around. God knows that only _one_ of my sisters can prove to be sensible,"

"Ha. Pot, meet kettle. You got in trouble too, Ori! But wow, I didn't think you had it in you. Freezing Malfoy's bollocks and whipping him with ice and frost for nearly half an hour until Snape told you to stop? In front of all the Slytherins in the common room? You sure don't do things by halves when it comes to delivering a message, do you? Hey, wait up!"

"It is not my problem that the fool does not know how to cast a proper shield. And I told you that I wanted to be alone, Tracey-get off my arm!"

"Nope. Nuh-uh. No way I'm missing out on any more fun if you get into trouble outside," she smirked impishly, latching onto Orianna's arm as though her life depended on it. The redhead very nearly threw her against the wall with how hard she was shaking her arm, but eventually relented with an angry sigh. "You know how it is out there. Muggleborn Slytherin getting into trouble with Snape? You'd be a target for all the older Slytherins. It'd be safer to stick together,"

Truthfully, Tracey knew that wasn't necessarily true. The pranks and booby traps in the Slytherin common room had gotten infinitely worse with Daphne in the hospital wing. The door heading to their dorm had been trapped with an incendiary rune that she had only barely spotted and tripped safely with a bit of rolled up parchment thrown at just the right spot. That was not the work of a first or second year; Ancient Runes was not taught until third year, after all, and she only knew what it looked like because her dad was an absolute Runes nut.

That meant that at least one senior student trying to seriously injure them. Without Daphne around, that removed the possibility that they might catch a pureblood heiress by accident. And Daphne was not yet due to be released for another three days.

Sometimes, she wished that she had been sorted into a nicer House. Like Hufflepuff. But the Sorting Hat had insisted that her place was in Slytherin; that it had seen some kind of ambition inside her. It was probably just making it up, all things considered - after all, Tracey enjoyed having fun far too much to be concerned with stuffy matters like politics or proper high-class pureblood manners.

At least it was nearly time for Yule. Most of the Slytherins, having come from traditionalist families, would go home. This year, however, Tracey was going to be stuck in Hogwarts. Her parents were going to be away in France to visit a few relatives, and the Greengrasses only wanted Daphne and Astoria back home.

"Ori, what's happening for Yule for you?" asked Tracey, hoping that she would at least have a friend in Slytherin for the festive season.

"I will be remaining in Hogwarts. Both of my mothers are on duty somewhere in Britain, but I don't know where,"

Tracey stopped in her tracks and regarded Orianna curiously. "You don't?"

"No. Classified information. I have not been informed - and will likely _not_ be informed,"

"So how would you get back home?"

"Either one of my mothers would come and get myself and my sisters from Platform Nine and Three Quarters, I suppose," replied Orianna with a slight shrug. "Now come on. I promised my sister that she could have the broom,"

If Tracey hadn't been imagining things, she was certain that several pairs of eyes were upon them as they left the Slytherin common room. A quick look over her shoulder showed that every student was absorbed in doing their own thing, oddly enough. Shaking off the sensation, she followed Orianna out of the Slytherin common room and to the entry hall, where Aveline was waiting and already clad in thick winter robes.

She, Orianna and Aveline trudged their way through the snow towards the Quidditch pitch. The Hufflepuff Quidditch team was already there. Their three chasers were tossing quaffles to one another, occasionally trying to put the ball through the goals. Their keeper was doing his best to keep the ball out of the goals, though occasionally one of the chasers put one through. On the ground, in front of the changerooms, was their captain, tapping her foot impatiently while checking the watch on her wrist.

She was a dark-haired girl with close-cropped hair, of stout and broad-shouldered build. Very much squat and short, Tracey had to wonder whether the beater's bat was longer than she was tall - and if the girl had some dwarf blood in her.

"Ah, Aveline!" she called out jovially, waving the girls over with a grin that split her face from ear to ear. "Come, come-wait, why have you got Slytherins behind you? I know that one of them's your sister, but who's the other one?"

"Oh. She's a friend, Maxine. Tracey Davis,"

"And totally not a Quidditch spy!" giggled Tracey. "What? I'm being serious. I'd love to see Malfoy eat dirt for once,"

"Well, if you say so. It's going to be hard for us anyway, keeping up with Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones with our Cleansweep Sevens," Maxine said uncertainly. "Anyway! We're short one Beater for this Quidditch season because Michael says that he wants to spend more time studying like a 'Claw. You say that you've finally gotten a broom that can take you without breaking in half, and can actually fly higher than ten feet?"

"Yup!" Aveline replied cheerfully, lifting up the _Greased Lightning_.

Maxine looked at Aveline as though she had grown two heads. "What the hell? That's a broom?" she sputtered out after nearly twenty seconds of gawking at the odd broom.

"Yes, it is indeed a broomstick. An experimental model from Nimbus," Orianna supplied quickly. So quickly that Tracey thought she must have spent all night reciting it.

"Interesting. A metal broomstick! It does look slick, doesn't it?" Maxine murmured appreciatively. "And so well polished! I could use that as a mirror. Anyway, we're not here to compare broomsticks-"

"Ha. Compare broomsticks, she said," Tracey giggled, earning an eyeroll from both Maxine and Orianna. Aveline simply looked confused. "Oh, Ivy, you're too innocent,"

"What am I missing? I don't get it,"

"Never you mind, Aveline. That's not what we're here for. We're here to see if you can fill the Beater position to replace Michael. If your sister and your...Slytherin friend want to watch, that's fine. Lower stands are open, you can watch from there,"

The Quidditch trial for Aveline was mostly a formality after twenty minutes. The broom, while it was far more sluggish than the others when it came to accelerating and turning, was at least able to keep up with the Cleansweeps on a flight around the pitch. What caused Maxine to grin like a loon after ten minutes, however, was Aveline's incredible arm strength. Four shattered Beaters' bats later, one of the older chasers suggested the use of a bat that was charmed to be Unbreakable. After that, the sorry bludgers were beaten from one end of the pitch to the other with single swings. In fact, after the practice had concluded, the battered iron ball had dozens of dents bashed into its surface.

"Oh, we'll have the Quidditch Cup this year! I'm sure of it," laughed one of the chasers with glee. O'Flaherty, if Tracey remembered right. "Just knock our opponents out of the air, Flynn. That's all we ask for. They cannae do squat if ya knock 'em flat on their arses!"

"Don't hit us with the bat either, you hear?"

"Nope, definitely not going to do that, am I?" Aveline giggled. "What do you think, Ori? I made the Quidditch team!"

No response.

"Ori?" she asked again in concern. "Ori? What's wrong?"

Tracey turned to the side to see what had occupied Orianna's attention. The eldest Flynn triplet's eyes were narrowed and focused on some things in the distance.

Things that were vaguely human-shaped and rapidly running off towards the castle.

"Trouble," Orianna hissed through gritted teeth.

* * *

A/N:

Whew, it's been a while. Been so incredibly busy that I haven't had much time to get these words down.

Tracey, Daphne and Orianna (and possibly Astoria) are definitely in for a world of hurt soon. Slytherin's number one rule was broken: Slytherins only look after themselves.

Lordrednight: Thank you for the glowing review. It's certainly nice to know that people appreciate my writing. Yes, I'm very well aware of the stagnation that's happening in the Harry Potter section. Many repeats of the same ideas, the same concepts, day in day out. I've picked the less-known characters and thrown in OCs so that I'm free to experiment with the HP universe without being hounded by people clamouring for their preferred pairings and such - and I'd say it's paying off.

Dragon Man 180: Lockhart has three things in great abundance: charm, hair shampoo/conditioner, and glib wordplay. At least in his books.

A/N 2:

Revised the duel scene. I wasn't too happy with how that one turned out, and Meneldur gave me the final push to get it done and fixed up :P


	21. The Python of Slytherin

"Flynn, what _is_ that bird doing? Aren't owls supposed to be, you know, asleep during the day? Why is it staring at you?"

"It's a post owl. Let it in, Michael," Amanda replied to her curious colleague. "I am honestly quite surprised that it knows where to go, considering that I have not even written to anyone where I reside now,"

As Amanda watched him slowly crank open the heavy sliding window, she couldn't help but sigh. Her new placement in Scotland was both a boon and a curse. For while it was certainly better-equipped than her clandestine laboratory back in Number Three, Privet Drive, it certainly left much to be desired.

Her partner had voiced much dissatisfaction regarding its remoteness, particularly when she learned that all their shopping had to be done through a military commissary. She herself had concerns about its rather utilitarian furnishings. While admittedly her home in Privet Drive was hardly the epitome of luxury, her idea of comfort was certainly not sterile rooms of metal and plastic. Or of

beds and seats of cold metal that were only barely padded with thin layers of stiff matting. And the less mentioned about the total lack of decent, fresh food, the better. One did get tired of eating pre-packaged ration packs after a few weeks, after all.

On the other hand, the resources that she had been provided with had been nothing less than a blessing for their research. The men and women working under her, twenty in all, were highly trained and intelligent. It was certainly refreshing to be able to hold an intellectual discussion without having their eyes glaze over uncomprehendingly after only a few words.

"Parchment? Post owls?" snorted Michael as he watched the owl squeeze through the now-open window. "From our, ah, 'special' friends, I take it?"

"Indeed. Now, let us see what message has come..." murmured Amanda. She nearly choked on her coffee when she read the address line of the letter:

 _To Miss A. R. Flynn  
Laboratory 13-F  
Eilean Mòr  
Scotland_

 _Dear Miss Flynn,_

 _I regret to inform you that an unpleasant situation has arisen regarding your daughter, Miss Orianna Flynn. A disciplinary hearing shall be held on Friday, December 18, to determine whether or not she will be permitted to continue her education in the magical arts._

 _As you are not of magical birth, I am sorry to say that you will not be permitted to travel to Hogwarts to speak on her behalf. You will be informed of the results of the hearing upon its conclusion._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Professor Albus Dumbledore_

A disciplinary hearing. Amanda scowled deeply as she pondered _how_ it was even possible that her eldest daughter – her most disciplined and well-behaved girl – could have possibly landed herself in so much trouble that she required a disciplinary hearing. She knew that there were elements in Hogwarts that did not take kindly to her; but at the same time, she believed Orianna was certainly prudent enough to hold her tongue and avoid unnecessary conflicts.

"If it were Zoe, I should not be surprised. Orianna, however...?" she muttered to herself, folding the letter up. She would need to speak to the goblins for advice – and likely inform her daughter as well of said advice. "Michael, has the flight bound for Inverness departed? I am required in London in two days' time,"

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sighed and massaged his throbbing head. Things were certainly not looking very pleasant for the coming holiday season. For the past week, he had been deflecting questions from the Hogwarts Board of Governors regarding the petrifying attacks on students. It helped somewhat that those that had been attacked were not as well connected, owing to their status as Muggleborns; for as tragic as it was to have them petrified, as long as their magical guardian did not raise a complaint to the Board of Governors, there would be no investigation. How fortunate it was, then, that their respective Heads of Houses were their guardians in the magical world, and that he had the authority to override them.

However, that level of control did not extend to those of established and _well respected_ magical lineages. And despite what traditions Slytherin House had internally regarding how students behaved towards one another, it was rather difficult to overlook the fact that no less than twenty students of established Wizarding families had been put into the hospital wing with injuries of various degrees in a single morning.

One or two students being injured could be attributed to an accident.

Several? He could understand that to be some form of argument that spiralled out of control.

Twenty, however? He was at a loss as to how that could have come about.

All of them had accused a single student of attacking them first. It certainly did not escape Albus' attention that it was Orianna Flynn who was accused. The second year Slytherin Muggleborn, who he recalled had brutally slain a fully-grown mountain troll in her first year. He held no illusions that the girl could have resisted the infamous Slytherin prejudice against Muggleborns forever; and likely this incident was simply her snapping and attacking everyone that had ever wronged her.

An understandable, if regrettable, decision. Why the girl could not simply forgive and forget about their offences was another matter. Lashing out would simply do more harm for the greater good in the long run, deepening the divide between the dark and light and preventing him from saving those that can be saved.

A burst of green flames in his fireplace alerted him to a person arriving by Floo. The elegant and refined Malfoy patriarch stepped out, his lips curled into the persistent sneer that he was infamous for. "Albus," he drawled, "Where is the brutish girl that has attacked my son?"

Albus let out a well-rehearsed, long-suffering sigh and put on his best impression of a caring grandfather figure. It certainly wasn't helping him at all that of all the children that the child could have lashed out at, it had to be Lucius' son.

"She will be here when the time comes, Lucius. You are simply here five minutes early. Severus is currently fetching her from Madam Pomfrey. Lemon drop?"

"No thank you," he replied disdainfully, turning up his nose at the sweets.

"Very well. I would never say no to more candies. They do make life that much easier to handle, Lucius," said Albus with a smile, popping one into his mouth. As he did so, the door to his office creaked open. "Ah, Severus. Excellent timing. Is Miss Flynn with you?"

"She is behind me," replied the dour potions master.

True to his word, the redheaded girl limped in behind him, propping herself up on a crutch. One leg was still bound in a cast, and half her face was hidden behind a swath of bandages stained by various potions. Three of her fingers on her wand-hand were bound together in bandages held by a splint. And despite the amount of pain that she must have been in, the girl maintained an impassive expression. One that was only punctuated by a flash of _white-hot rage_ the moment that her one uncovered eye fell on Lucius – and vanished behind a mask of neutrality almost as quickly as it had come.

A curious development, Albus thought. Most Muggleborns expressed their expressions rather freely. Had the girl started to learn Occlumency? Had her exposure to Slytherin house hardened her mind so quickly? That was certainly not a good sign.

"Headmaster," she murmured icily, inclining her head ever so subtly in his direction. There was little warmth in those green eyes, which were like chips of emerald ice. "Professor Snape said that I was to come here for a...disciplinary hearing?"

"Indeed. We shall begin once we are all settled in and ready. Would you care for a lemon drop?" offered Albus. He waved his wand once, conjuring a pair of plush armchairs

"No thank you. I would prefer to eat proper food over sugary treats," she replied. Giving Lucius an appraising look, she added, "And can I assume that this man is Draco's father?"

"Yes, he is indeed young Mister Malfoy's father, Miss Flynn. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves before beginning,"

"That would be...acceptable," she hissed out. Inclining her head ever so slightly – just enough to be tolerated as a polite greeting – she muttered out. "I am Orianna Flynn. Of no notable House. Though I am fairly sure that you are all too aware of that already,"

"Watch your tongue, Muggleborn. I am Lucius Malfoy, Head of the Noble House of Malfoy, and the chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. I have been informed that you have assaulted no less than twenty other Slytherin students. One of whom is my son, no less; and from who I have heard of your assault. How do you plead?"

"Assault implies that I have attacked first. Which I have not," she replied calmly.

"Indeed? Even when all twenty students have made _written statements_ regarding the event, all of which describe the event the same way?" drawled Lucius. "Do you take me for a fool? My son is in the hospital wing with numerous broken bones! Only with the aid of his friends could he write-"

"Was,"

"Excuse me?"

"Draco _was_ in the hospital wing with broken bones. I will not deny that. But do not try to make the injuries sound more severe than they were, _Mister_ Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey had discharged him within two hours of the injury with a clean bill of health. As have the other Slytherins that have attacked myself,"

Lucius waved her off with a dismissive sneer. "Piffle. So you do not deny assaulting my son, and the sons and daughters of otther notable members of our society?"

"Again, I will repeat myself. Assault implies that I have attacked first, which I did not. I have merely acted in self-defence,"

"More than twenty eyewitnesses have written otherwise, Miss Flynn. If they were spreading lies, then I would highly doubt that their stories would be exactly the same," countered the Malfoy patriarch irritably. Albus noted that through all this, Severus had remained entirely silent. In fact, his lips remained so drawn and tight that they were almost an invisible line. A fact that did not escape the Albus' notice. "I think that the only punishment fitting the crime in this case would be expulsion, Dumbledore. Have her wand snapped and her memories erased. I will not have my son be in the same House as this menace,"

"Perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye, Lucius. I think we should question Miss Flynn first, before passing any judgement on her," Albus spoke, putting on his best grandfatherly air in an attempt to defuse their tempers. "Miss Flynn, what were you doing on that day?"

"I was accompanying my sister, Aveline to the Quidditch pitch alongside Tracey Davis. She had requested to borrow our shared broom, which was in my care at the time, for the purposes of trying out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team," she recited quickly. Almost too quickly. "I was returning to the Slytherin quarters afterwards when I was attacked by a fifth year. I believe Adrian Pucey was his name,"

"The Slytherin chaser and the captain of the team? I doubt that boy has anything more on his mind than chasing a ball," scoffed Snape.

"Perhaps we should add 'slander' to the list of problems you are causing, _Miss Flynn_. Mister Pucey is the _son_ of a well-respected businessman of proper lineage," Lucius said, his voice dangerously low. "Think carefully about what you say, unless you wish to insult your betters,"

"Slander? It's not slander if I'm telling the truth. Headmaster, do you have something to show memories? A...pensieve, perhaps?"

That certainly caused Albus to stiffen in his seat. The girl was _muggleborn_. And pensieves were rather rare, and not often spoken about outside courthouses and the libraries of ancient families. He was fairly certain that none of the books in the library had any material on it. In fact, the way that the girl was staring straight at his pensieve – one that was sitting on a marble pedestal in front of Fawkes – told him that she knew exactly what it was. More disturbingly, it was as though she knew that he had one.

"That is certainly an option. Though if I must ask, where did you learn about them?" inquired Albus, surreptitiously casting a mild Legilimency probe on the girl. Much to his surprise, he simply encountered a void of pure darkness in his mind's eye, revealing nothing more.

Well, except for the fact that the girl was trained in at least rudimentary Occlumency - or perhaps somehow acquired an artifact shielding her mind. A void was not exactly subtle; it was crude, though effective. Judging by her disapproving glare, however, she had detected his probe. Deciding that it was wiser to not be caught performing Legilimency on unwilling subjects, he ceased his probe. She returned the favour with the slightest of nods, though her still-icy glare showed him that she still deeply distrusted him. A slight wiggle of her left index finger caught his eye. There upon it was a polished silver ring, embossed with the sigil of a fleur-de-lys upon an engraved oak leaf – and a single emerald the size of a quail's egg.

House Greengrass' signet ring. Specifically, one of the family rings. Knowing that those were enchanted to horribly burn any that had taken the ring by force, Albus could only speculate that either of the Misses Greengrass had willingly loaned her own ring to Miss Flynn – or the Flynn children had been taken in as wards of the Ancient House. Whatever the case, he dared not push his luck, just in case Charles or Persephone Greengrass decided to press charges in the Wizengamot for unlawful use of Legilimency. He had enough problems with the Dark-aligned families, after all, without provoking those of a neutral disposition.

"I have...sources," she said curtly. "But I do not see how that is relevant for what I was called here for. You have a pensieve, and I wish to show my memories of the event so that we can show who is truly lying,"

"Very well, Miss Flynn. I will not press the matter, though I do wish that you would be more open to myself," Albus said. Standing up, he picked up the pensieve and placed it gently upon the middle of his desk. "Now, I will extract the memories from your mind. If you would recall the event, it would greatly assist me,"

* * *

 _Orianna walked in front of Tracey on their way back to the Slytherin common room. An undercurrent of dread filled her mind as she did so. Her hand was clenched tightly around her wand; her mind racing at what felt like a million miles an hour in an attempt to recall all the defensive and offensive spells that she had learned._

 _She knew what she had seen. The blond hair and the silver-and-green robes on one boy, and the two thickset, bulky forms following him._

 _Draco Malfoy. And his two bookends._

 _They had seen her give their shared broom to her sister. And her sister was going to try and fit into the Hufflepuff team._

 _There was no doubt about it; he was going to tell as many Slytherins as he could about her betrayal of the Slytherins. Giving a broom to a member of another House. Never mind that she had no interest in Quidditch. Never mind that the broom wasn't even entirely hers to begin with. They would likely see it as a betrayal; and given the rumours of Pucey targeting herself, Tracey and Daphne, it was highly likely that there would be some sort of attack on them impending._

" _Oriiii," Tracey cried out plaintively, "Why are you so tense? Why are you walking so fast back to the castle?"_

" _I – no,_ we _need to get back to the Slytherin common room and find some prefects," she spoke darkly. The wand in her hand gave off a couple of dark purple sparks._

" _But why?"_

" _You know exactly why, Tracey. You know what that must have looked like. I gave a broomstick to Aveline, and now she is playing for Hufflepuff. And the Slytherin versus Hufflepuff match is due after the holidays,"_

" _What's that got to do with anything?"_

" _Everything, Tracey. Remember the second rule of Slytherin house," she said with a grimace, "Slytherins must display outward solidarity. And that means do not assist another house if it would bring down your own,"_

" _And with how much the boys and some girls like Quidditch..." Tracey finished, turning as pale as a sheet as she trailed off._

" _Yes. Exactly. Even if I did not exactly break the rules, as the broomstick is technically shared between myself and both my sisters,"_

 _The moment that Orianna had opened up the Slytherin common room's door, she came face to face with what she dreaded most. Inside were most of the Slytherin boys, from second to fourth years; and at the head of their group was Adrian Pucey, with Draco standing closely beside him. Both looked quite sickeningly pleased with themselves; like cats that had caught the canary, or been fed a whole tub of cream. "So, mudblood," Pucey sneered, cracking his knuckles. "Draco's been telling me some interesting tidbits. About the fact that you betrayed Slytherin,"_

" _I did no such thing," denied Orianna flatly._

" _Then what do you call giving a broomstick to Hufflepuff?" screeched a bucktoothed fourth-year girl that she had not even met. "One that works almost as good as their best brooms! And giving it to a beater that actually hits harder than a wet noodle? You're not helping us!"_

" _And if you're not helping us, you know what that means, mudblood?" Pucey continued. His unpleasant sneer continued to grow. "You betrayed Slytherin. You broke the second rule of Slytherin by helping another house get ahead of the rest of us,"_

" _I repeat myself, I did no such thing," Orianna said, her fingers gripping her wand ever more tightly. "The broom is shared between myself and my two sisters. Mother only provided one between the three of us,"_

" _Pfft. Likely story. If it wasn't yours, then why would it be in your room? Honestly, you can't get more than a few Galleons to rub together, traitor? A broom isn't that expensive. We're not buying that dragon shite,"_

" _That is the truth, and all of it," Orianna spoke, slowly stepping in front of Tracey. She then whispered, "Tracey. Get behind me. If they do anything – run. Get Professor Snape. Bring him down here. Immediately,"_

" _What, you going to run now, mudblood? A coward and a piece of filth inside our glorious house? Boys and girls, I think we've heard enough. It's time to teach her a lesson,"_

 _What could only be described as a rainbow of hexes, curses and jinxes flew her way from twenty wands. Tracey shrieked in terror and bolted out of the room as soon as the first one sailed through the air. Orianna hastily threw up a shield spell, which deflected only the lighter jinxes and hexes. A sickly yellow curse struck her leg and she hissed in pain; there was a painful black welt where it had struck._

" _Glacius!" she growled, willing an icy wall to materialise in front of her. Spellfire continued to connect against the conjured barrier, chipping and cracking away the makeshift shield._

 _If only she had Daphne around, she could actually counterattack. On her own, it was difficult enough maintaining the integrity of the barrier. Not that it would remain solid for much longer, as larger pieces started to crumble about the edges._

 _One of the boys eventually battered through a weakened section of icy wall on the left. "Expelliarmus!" she yelled, striking the boy's wand hand just as he was climbing over. Said wand sailed through the air and clattered harmlessly against the wall behind her. Orianna was already on the move before he could react and grabbed the boy's arm. With a fierce yell, she swung with all her might and threw him bodily across the room, where he struck the wall with enough force to shatter the stonework behind him. The boy slumped down, unconscious._

 _The distraction was more than enough to give the others free shots. Several more of those painful yellow curses struck her sides with a loud_ crack _each and every time they hit._

" _Filth!"_

" _Mudblood!"_

" _Traitor!"_

 _Something primal rose up in her. A feeling of overwhelming rage, burning brightly somewhere within. One that the cold logic of her mind insisted on suppressing – but one that demanded release. Pounding on the steel cage of her will. And finally tearing her desire for control asunder._

 _She had held back long enough. Kept to the shadows because it was required of her. Kept her nose clean to avoid confrontations. Kept her sisters from doing stupid things, because nobody else would. Kept everything in order, because the alternative was unproductive chaos._

 _She had held back long enough. It was time to show the little grass snakes who was the true alpha snake._

" _GELIDUS MALLEO!" Orianna roared, jabbing her wand forward._

 _A burst of frost from her wand, pooling in front of her._

 _A handle of dark ice rising from the ground._

 _A frosty hammer with a head as large as a small child forming before her._

 _A red haze overtaking her vision as she seized it by the frigid handle._

 _And a feral, ear-splitting shriek before everything descended into a blur of wild motion._

 _When the haze cleared, and she could think clearly once more, she found herself on the floor, bound in heavy steel chains. The common room – or what was left of it – was an utter mess. Strewn with remains of shattered tables, overturned couches, toppled cabinets and fallen chandeliers. The green carpet torn and ripped in many places. The students that had attacked her were either groaning in agony or were out cold. Several had limbs that definitely looked as though they had either too many joints, or were bending entirely the wrong way._

 _She turned her head around to see more. Professor Snape was in the room. His expression was unreadable. And behind him was a very shaken Tracey, looking extremely terrified as she hid behind Professor Snape's robes._

* * *

When they all emerged once more from the memories held in the pensieve, not a single one of them spoke a word. Albus felt fortunate for once that he had not eaten his lunch yet. The level of destruction that had followed Orianna's rampage had left Dumbledore reeling. Nothing that he had seen in the past fifty years – save for the one time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened before – would have compared to what he had seen. In fact, given the sheer malevolent fury behind Orianna's mind, he was quite thankful that Severus had arrived just in time to prevent anything worse from happening.

What truly caught his eye, however, was the sheer strength that the girl exhibited. Seizing that student by the arm and hurling him across the room was a feat that Albus thought impossible. And the resistance that the girl showed towards Bone-Breaking Curses. She had taken dozens of them during the entire fight. Yet here she was, in his office. Bound in bandages, yes; leaning on a crutch, yes; but the mere fact that she was not bedridden and virtually mummified with all her bones reduced to powder? That made him think that perhaps the girl was a part-giant without realising it.

"As you can see, I was attacked first," Orianna spoke, breaking the silence. "Draco Malfoy started the fight by telling everyone in Slytherin a lie,"

"Are you accusing my son of being a liar, Miss Flynn?"

"It is not an accusation if it is the _truth_!" she all but snarled. Albus raised an eyebrow when he noticed a fine sheen of frost start to form about her feet, and cold mist started to form from her breath. Did the child have some sort of affinity for frost-based conjuration? A frost hammer was not exactly the easiest of spells to cast, particularly for a second year. "You saw exactly what had happened immediately before the fight broke out. Pucey said that Draco has been telling him some things-"

"Which could be anything that could trigger a dispute. Mind your tone with me, _girl_ ," Lucius sneered. "Falsely accusing the heir of a Noble House of a crime is something that will not go unpunished,"

"Lucius, I think that is quite enough," interrupted Dumbledore. "Whatever the matter is between young Miss Flynn and your son seems to be quite unrelated to what you are here for. Which is, to say, hearing about both sides of the regrettable incident in the Slytherin common room. Of which, I must say, it appears that she cannot be entirely to blame,"

Lucius blinked. "I must have misheard you, Albus. Are you saying that this Muggleborn girl is not to blame for inflicting grievous bodily harm on numerous fine and upstanding girls and boys? That she is not guilty of...this violence?"

"Guilty of inflicting injuries, yes. However regrettable the violence has been, she has not been entirely at fault. Your assumption that she assaulted your son and the sons and daughters of others had been wholly unfounded, as it is clear that she had been attacked first,"

Lucius snorted in disbelief. "So, you will simply let this girl go unpunished?"

"Not at all, Lucius. While she may not have assaulted young Draco, her use of excessive force in defending herself is certainly intolerable. As I understand it, Miss Flynn, you are currently serving detentions with Professor Snape for the remainder of this term?"

The girl gave a stiff nod in response. "For humiliating my son in front of the Slytherins the week before," Lucius added acidly.

"Is that so, Lucius? I have not heard of such an event occurring,"

"Severus has informed me of the condition of my son's...ah...family jewels...after this _girl_ decided to assault him in the Slytherin common room,"

Judging by Severus' raised eyebrow, however, that was clearly _not_ the case. It was certainly more likely that his son complained directly to him. After all, it did not take someone listening through the Hogwarts security wards to know that Draco was rather proud of his father's position as the head of the school governors – and flaunted it whenever he could.

"I see. Then, Miss Flynn, you will continue to do so for the rest of the school year. My dear child, you must learn to _forgive._ Surely it does nobody any good if you were always to attack those that disagreed with you?"

"...If you say so, Headmaster," she replied tonelessly.

"This is an outrage! My son had his arm broken, and this girl only receives _detentions_ in exchange?"

"It is more than fair, Lucius," Albus said pleasantly, though inwardly he was starting to feel rather weary of the Malfoy patriarch's blind prejudice against the Muggleborn. "Your son's injuries were not lasting, while those on Miss Flynn were inflicted by curses that were borderline Dark. Her injuries will remain for some time yet. I think that detentions would be appropriate enough. Please do remember that as long as no injuries require Auror intervention, I have the final say on what is and what is not an appropriate "

Lucius gritted his teeth, but eventually acquiesced and grudgingly nodded his agreement. At the very least, the man was mindful of what he could and could not do, within the bounds of laws and regulations. And intervening in Hogwarts business without due cause was certainly one of those things that he could not do.

"Excellent. Then I suppose this brings this rather unpleasant business to an end. Do either of you have any further questions?"

"Just one," Orianna spoke calmly. "Mister Malfoy-"

" _Lord_ Malfoy,"

" _Mister_ Malfoy. I would like to know if you were once in Slytherin,"

"Of course I was. Do you take me for some uncultured boor that wallowed in Hufflepuff?" he scoffed.

"Then you would certainly be aware of the house traditions. What would the others think if they knew that you were brought into a dispute between two Slytherins? One of whom is your son?"

Lucius sneered and turned up his nose at the girl. "Is that a threat, Miss Flynn? Because if it is, you should be warned. Do not make threats that you cannot back up,"

* * *

A/N:

A fight in the week before Christmas. What an adorable Christmas present by the Slytherins.

Guest: It's fine to dislike something, but when that comes down to the choice of characters rather than merits and failings of the plot, or of how it was delivered, it shows how shallow your mind is. Presuming the quality of work before reading further only indicates your foolishness, and I for one am glad that you will not be reading any further. Please, be my guest and bury your head in My Immortal. Clearly, it is more in line with your level of intelligence.

For everyone else, there is a good reason for the only female babies happening behind the scenes. The human genome requires a Y-chromosome on the 23rd pair for a male person. The procedure that Amanda uses to create the babies were based on a modified genetic cloning procedure based on Dolly the Sheep, where the genetic material of an adult sheep was inserted into an egg cell. In this case, Amanda had done much the same, using Phineas' sperm as a way of injecting genetic material that had been stripped of clean of his genes (for most part; clearly, magic says no to science!) and replaced with the modified somatic cell genes, which were based on Amanda's own. With a total absence of Y-chromosome, it stands to reason that every single child born of this method would be female.

Keep in mind, however, that this is headcanon. It might be possible to do it this way, but real science shows that it normally gets done by direct injection into an egg cell. I'm not a molecular biologist, please do not quote me on whether this can succeed or not.

milpld: You would not be the only one. But if it were 100% about the scientific discoveries, it would be extremely boring and dry. So, let's just space it out.

chaosrin: It's not so much attacking Malfoy in-house that was the problem, it was the part about not causing permanent injuries that was the problem. Clearly, beating someone's balls for half an hour would be a bit excessive.

Special shoutout to Meneldur, who gave me a much needed push to get the previous chapter fixed up. I wasn't entirely happy with how it had turned out originally, but clearly you guys don't see it as up to scratch as well. I've fixed it up somewhat.


	22. A Brief Respite

On Yule morning, Daphne felt as though she were in heaven. All wrapped up in a thick and soft Puffskein-wool blanket, sitting in front of a merrily-crackling fireplace in the Slytherin common room. A stack of indulgently luscious blueberry and vanilla cream pies on a silver platter sat close to one hand, beside a bowl of nuts and snacks; a well-written storybook held in the other. The plush green couch she sat on was certainly far more comfortable than the plain beds of the hospital wing. Doubly so when she leaned back against the veritable mountain of cushions that propped up her back.

"My, it is quite incredible what a drop in the Slytherin population could get us in the way of suitable seating, isn't it?" Daphne spoke aloud, watching in satisfaction as Malfoy scowled and stalked off to the furthest corner of the room he could find, alongside his two brutish cronies.

The heavy clunking of metal on carpet approached from behind her. "Well, I certainly hope that this peace and quiet will last for some time," grumbled Orianna as she slowly eased herself into the couch beside Daphne.

The redhead was still swathed in bandages, though thankfully they were no longer soaked in all manner of potions. Her arm was no longer cradled in a sling, though she still touched things gingerly before picking them up. When she spotted Malfoy, however, she narrowed her eyes and picked up a walnut from the bowl of snacks with her good hand. Cracking it open between her fingers, she raised her voice so that everyone could hear it. "After all, it would be a _shame_ if a certain _someone_ 's father had to hear about another incident. Isn't that right, _Malfoy_?"

"When my father hears-" the boy rattled off, before realising that was exactly what Orianna wanted him to say in front of everyone. "Go to hell, Mudblood. You'll get what's coming to you," he snapped, before stalking off into the boys' dormitories with his followers.

"As un-Slytherin as someone could possibly get, that boy," Orianna sighed.

"Come on, Ori. Lay off him for one morning, he's not worth it. It's Yule – and that means _presents_!" Tracey cried out, nearly bouncing in excitement as she spotted the huge pile of presents on the table in front of Daphne. "Let's see what we all got this year!"

The Davises had sent Tracey a small mountain of assorted chocolates, somehow compressed into a tiny box. While sharing the chocolates with a giggling Astoria, Tracey gasped in surprise when the younger Greengrass revealed that she received a luxurious emerald-green cashmere-and-silk scarf, with a permanent fragrance-emitting enchantment. Orianna's small gift contained top-quality obsidian scalpels, two for each of them. Daphne, on the other hand, received a set of griffin-feather quills and coloured inks, much to the elder girl's chagrin. At least, until the next massive package that was there revealed that they had all received three cashmere jumpers each.

"Hm. I would never have expected that my parents would write something like this," Daphne chuckled, trying and failing to suppress a snort. "Go ahead and read it. It is addressed to you, after all,"

 _Dear Miss Flynn,_

 _Despite our warnings to avoid further conflict with families of greater importance, it appears that you have continued to do so regardless of the consequences. Lord Malfoy has strongly expressed his disapproval at your behaviour. Which, supposedly, has involved putting his son in hospital wing, and defending our eldest daughter's honour in the face of Heir Malfoy's unwanted – and highly insulting – advances. I must, therefore, concede that I owe you a debt of gratitude for doing so without a good reason. Attached to this letter is a small token of our thanks._

 _A word of advice, however; do refrain from further engaging those of greater families in hostilities. There are movements in the shadows that you would not even begin to comprehend – and I daresay would not like to be on the receiving end._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Lord Charles of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass_

 _Order of Merlin, Second Class_

 _P.S. I have also heard from Lord Malfoy that you were seen wearing a silver ring with the Greengrass sigil upon it. Seeing as those are unique to my daughters, I will only assume that one of my daughters has lent you their ring for whatever reason. Just this once, I will overlook your impropriety; but do not expect me to be so gracious if you dare to try misrepresent yourself as a member of my House another time._

Orianna raised an eyebrow. "I am confused. Is he...congratulating me? Or is he angry with me?"

"That would be as close to approval as you could get out of him," Daphne said. She tried her best to suppress a laugh but failed, sliding off her couch and chortling uncontrollably. "Merlin. My father, giving approval to a Muggleborn witch? I can only imagine how distressing that would be to him,"

"Well, it sounds like you'd be in trouble for lending Ori your ring, Daph. Speaking of which, what happened in that meeting, anyway? You looked like you were about to murder someone after, Ori. Something go wrong?"

"Aside from being forced to walk up to Dumbledore's office without any pain suppressing potions? Absolutely nothing," Orianna said sarcastically. She then lowered her voice and leaned forward, chewing on her bottom lip. "No. I'm glad that Daphne has taught me the basics of Occlumency and lent me her ring. Dumbledore tried to read my mind without asking,"

Silence fell across the four of them as the three other girls tried to process what Orianna just said. Even Daphne's amusement had vanished completely, replaced by a look of complete disbelief. "I'm sorry, _what_?" Astoria blurted out.

"How very articulate, Tori," sighed Daphne. "How do you know, Orianna?"

"I felt something brush against my thoughts when I looked into Dumbledore's eyes, right before I imagined a blank void to clear my thought. That, and your ring actually burned on my finger when that happened,"

"Well, that would certainly be a sign of the ring defending its bearer from mental intrusion,"

"That's just wrong," Tracey said, disgusted. "So...what do we do about this?"

"Us? Nothing," Daphne said. She picked up a blueberry pie and took a dainty bite out of it. "I will write to my father about this event, and see what he thinks the best course of action would be. For now, though, I suppose we should enjoy our holidays,"

"That certainly sounds like a good idea. Away from mind-reading old men and backstabbing grass snakes,"

"Must I?" Orianna sighed, waving a hand over her cane.

"You won't sit down here all by yourself, Ori. Come on," Tracey said brightly with a devious smirk on her face. Seizing the redhead's arm, the tiny brunette girl tried her best to shift the much taller girl from her seat. To no avail, of course; but it did cause Orianna to sigh and relent, shuffling to her feet after half a minute of fruitless tugging by Tracey. "Wow, I'm getting stronger! I can finally lift Ori up!"

"If it amuses you so much, Tracey; by all means, continue to think that way," sighed Orianna. "What do you have in mind, anyway?"

"It's Yule! And we haven't even touched a single snowball yet," she grinned. "Let's grab Zoe and the others too. It wouldn't be anywhere near as much fun without them,"

It certainly lifted all their moods when they spent most of the day pelting each other with the little freezing projectiles. Minus Orianna and Daphne, who saw it as a foolish activity and would rather work on a snow sculpture of a dragon; and Hermione, who cowered behind a tree when she saw Zoe tossing boulders of packed snow the size of a watermelon. Nevertheless, even they were dragged into the snowball fight when the Weasley Twins joined in the fun, bewitching snowballs to chase after them all regardless of cover. Which led to a curious situation in which Orianna was ducking snowballs while leaning heavily on a cane, while Tracey used her as cover from other snowballs.

"Sorry, Ori, but you're too good at catching snowballs!" she giggled over the indignant protests of the mostly-immobile girl.

Cold, wet and thoroughly coated in snow and frost, the girls all split up for their respective dormitories, chattering animatedly about the day's events. After a hot shower and a thoroughly filling feast, the Slytherin girls found themselves seated in front of the fireplace once again, stacks of sugary biscuits and piping hot mugs of chocolate on trays in front of them all. Wrapped up in warm blankets and seated on all manner on soft cushions, it seemed a perfect end to an eventful day.

"Sometimes I wish every day could be like this," sighed Daphne contentedly. Astoria was seated on the floor in front of her, leaning back as her elder sister braided her dark hair. "No homework, no overbearing parents, no need to watch my back all day, and surrounded by good friends and family,"

"Yeah. We should do this more often," agreed Tracey as she devoured another buttery biscuit.

Lost in the homely comforts that seemed so foreign to the Slytherin common room for the past couple of months, Orianna could not help but agree with them. Still, she found herself wondering about her parents. Lucille, she thought, might have gone out to purchase yet another pair of shoes, or perhaps a pretty dress. Amanda, however? Orianna wondered if her genetic mother knew the meaning of relaxation. The more she thought about it, the less it seemed likely. Her mother was never one to take a break, even on weekends.

* * *

Which certainly could not have been further from the truth at that moment. Owing to heavy snowfall that blocked the train tracks from Scotland, Amanda finally arrived at Gringotts London on Christmas morning. Suffice to say that the goblin guards were somewhat surprised at the unannounced arrival on one of the four days that the bank was not open (the others being the summer solstice and the two equinoxes); but on the request of their king to invite her to their winter solstice festival, the guards shrugged and let the flustered and dishevelled goblin-friend into the bank.

She had brought with her an entire case of twenty-four curative elixirs with her, thinking to barter for some assistance regarding her daughter's case. Yet all of her preparations had proved to be unnecessary, owing to the arrival of a ruffled and disgruntled barn owl that came in with another letter addressed to her.

Which mentioned that her daughter's supposed misdemeanour – the assault on _twenty_ other children – had been classified as self-defence. While knowing that her daughter was not at fault certainly was relief to the geneticist, it outraged her at the same time. One or two children engaging in a fight, she could pass off as a childish way of resolving a dispute. Twenty against one? That was _orchestrated_. A planned attack on her child – and for what reason? Was that another case of the supposed bigotry against those born to non-magical parents at work?

"Another glass of Cornish Ruby, goblin-friend Amanda?" offered the goblin server from behind her, breaking her out of her thoughts. Nodding politely, she held up her fluted golden goblet for him to fill with the blood-red wine. "If you wish for more, simply knock on your table,"

"Thank you. I will keep that in mind," Amanda replied with a smile and a nod.

The goblins' feast had been...odd, to say the least; grilled giant centipedes were piled high on a golden platter, beside a sauce made of fermented bats' wings and cavern berries. A vast tureen held a thick, black snakeblood soup, in which thousands of little lurid orange snails bobbed up and down, smelling strongly of garlic. Stacks of paper-thin fried mushrooms were passed around, liberally coated in so much spice that she could almost _smell_ the heat of the peppers. A huge sausage, thick as her arm and looking much like a python coiled about a conical serving dish, took the pride of place in front of King Ragnok himself. This, she was told, was an enormously expensive goblin delicacy; a veritable feast of assorted subterranean bugs and creatures, ground and mixed with spices and onions, before being stuffed into a sausage casing and boiled to perfection.

Delicacy or not, she would definitely _not_ eat it. No, not even the threat of having nothing but her own (nearly inedible) home-cooking would push her to do so. Insects certainly had much protein in them; but even she had her limits.

"It is certainly a miracle that we have survived yet another year in the mines. There are more of us here in this feast than we had thought possible," King Ragnok spoke, a faint chuckle of amusement in his voice. "An effect of your wondrous potions, allowing us to save those that would ordinarily be beyond help. How do you find this feast, goblin-friend?"

"Well-" Amanda hummed, her mind racing to find some way of replying without offending the goblin king, "It is...interesting? The drinks are certainly very agreeable,"

The ancient goblin smirked and raised his jewel-encrusted goblet to hers for a toast. "That would be higher praise than we could expect from a human. Our tastes for the subterranean creatures may be considered...ah... _acquired_. Ah, but acceptance will not do! You must sample something of the feast. Go on, have your pick!"

Amanda blanched. Alcoholic drinks were fine – but one of those _things_ on the feast table? "We-ell..." she stammered. Not wanting to be a poor guest, she gathered her bravery and picked up a centipede. The goblins around her gasped and fell silent when they had noticed their human guest reach for something that was decidedly _goblin_.

 _It's just protein. It's just protein. It's just protein. Breathe, Amanda, you can do it. It's just protein..._

It certainly did not help her nerves that the goblins in the hall had fallen silent and were staring at her with bated breath. Deciding to just get it over with, she bit down on the grilled centipede – and was met with a pleasantly crisp snap and tender, salty meat.

"That was...surprisingly...tasty?" she commented, after washing down her meal with some wine.

"Ha! You owe me five hundred Galleons, Bloodfist!" Ragnok shouted, tears in his eyes as he burst into uproarious laughter. The goblin known as Bloodfist, on the other side of the long table, simply nodded stiffly, unable to believe what he had just seen. "Apologies, Amanda. I must admit that I and Bloodfist have long had a dispute about whether there would ever come a day when a human would actually sample some of our traditional dishes – and say that it is at least palatable. And it seems I have won my bet. Come now, do not look so offended; I did order my cooks to prepare something that I believe that you would actually enjoy,"

"Which would be...?"

"A dragon steak, of course! Aged to delectable perfection," he grinned, eyeing the gigantic slab of meat hungrily as it was hauled to the red-haired woman by two stout-looking goblins in white chefs' ensembles.

After having nothing but alcohol and the single bug all evening, the sight of such a massive, juicy-looking steak, combined with its mouth-watering gamey scent, proved too much for Amanda. She began to tear into the enormous meal, wolfing down piece after piece of well-seasoned and unbelievably flavoursome meat. Never again could she look upon steaks of mundane creatures the same way again; for once she had tasted the flesh of the king of magical beasts, everything else seemed so utterly _plebeian_.

* * *

A/N:

I think this will be my last chapter for some time.

I read the stories in the HP archives. Partly for pleasure, partly for inspiration, and partly for knowing that somebody out there is actually putting out good work to be read, inspiring others to do the same. And lately, it's been incredibly hard to do that with a certain user (or group of users) copypasting stories from other authors who have poured their hearts and souls and worked countless hours to bring their imagination to words. It disgusts me to no end that some low-life scum would do such a thing. And doubly so to realise that they have been doing this repeatedly without any sort of moderating action apparently being taken by the admins of this site.

Trying to find a good story to read, finding one that seems somewhat okay (or is actually good) - only to find that it was stolen by the same scumbag, over and over again, has left me with a very bitter taste in my mouth. It's very difficult to remain inspired enough to write in this state. So I think I will take my leave from this, and go over some of my unfinished older stories until such time that the moderators can finally ban that offender for good.

-ArcturusWolf


	23. The Enemy Within

A month after Amanda returned to the hidden research base in Eilean Mòr, things had seemingly calmed down in Hogwarts. Orianna had not sent any more letters regarding any more fights in Slytherin House, and neither had her sisters. Nor had any further letters come in from the school regarding any further disciplinary action, assuaging any further fears that she had regarding her daughter's safety.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, the rest of the school year could be calm. Calm enough that she did not have to write a letter to General Adams about potentially withdrawing her daughters from Hogwarts on the grounds of safety.

Alas, that was not to be. The seemingly out-of-place marble fireplace that had been installed in her quarters flared to life with a brilliant green flame before it spat out a bulky orange envelope emblazoned with the Gringotts seal. Raising an eyebrow, the scientist carefully cut it open and pulled the contents out onto her desk.

 _Dear Ms. Flynn,_

 _It has come to the attention of Gringotts that the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Brian Dumbledore, has been incarcerated by the Ministry of Magic over his failure to disclose a series of attacks upon students and other residents of Hogwarts. These attacks have so far left at least a dozen students, a ghost and a cat petrified and awaiting a dose of Mandrake Restorative Draught to un-petrify them. Due to wizarding laws restricting the sale of advanced potions enacted at the start of last year, it is not currently possible for the school to acquire the curative potions from external sources._

 _We have it on good authority that the Ministry of Magic is suppressing any news regarding these attacks in an attempt to prevent mass panic. Yet they have also failed to provide any form of security to prevent any further attacks; our liaison from the Ministry has informed us that no Aurors (magical police) have been moved to Hogwarts to ensure the students' safety. Goblin society views children as beings worth more than their weight in gold, and as such, this lack of action has been viewed with great contempt by our society._

 _As you are considered a Friend of our Nation, to fail to ensure your children's safety would bring great dishonour upon us. We ask you that you grant us permission to send a squad of goblin warriors to follow your children until the threat has passed._

 _May you bathe in the blood of your enemies and your gold ever flow,_

 _King Ragnok VII_

 _Gringotts Britain_

A dozen children. A ghost. And a cat. All petrified by some unknown attacker within the school. Amanda had half a mind to withdraw her children immediately from the school. But to do so would mean that their only lead into the magical world would be broken forever. Goblin-friend or not, she could not actually wield magic without the assistance of liquid mana. She could not even begin to contemplate casting the more complicated spells without one of her daughters' help.

Pinching her forehead in frustration, she paced about her room. Her research division now contained more than just biologists. They had been assigned two dozen engineers of various disciplines, who were supposed to assist her with determining what other uses she could get out of mana crystals and liquid mana. Perhaps with their aid, she could formulate a plan to help apprehend this unknown attacker.

* * *

The atmosphere in Hogwarts had grown tenser and tenser after the latest spate of attacks on students. Not even the prefects were safe, it seemed, as Penelope Clearwater had been petrified on one of her nightly patrol routes around the library. And to make it worse for Zoe's little circle of friends, Hermione had also been petrified along with the female prefect of Ravenclaw.

That had left Tracey very much terrified. Penelope was a half-blood, just like her; and the fact a half-blood had been petrified seemed to have been the last straw for the girl's waning courage. It also certainly did not help when at least another dozen half-bloods had been attacked as well over the month before the exams. The usually lively brunette was now subdued and jumping in fright whenever someone so much as let out a whisper from behind her. No longer did she engage in prank wars with Zoe and the Weasley Twins as they usually did over the first months of the school year. Instead, she tended to hide behind Orianna and Daphne, clinging to one of their arms much like a little girl would to her mother or father.

Trust Slytherin's Heir to make someone so scared like that. Even if the person in the question was one of their own house, Zoe thought darkly to herself as she chomped down on a slab of bacon on her fork. She glanced over to her black-ribboned sister who sat beside Tracey. Orianna looked completely stoic and unchanged to those who did not know her; but Zoe knew otherwise. There was a burning hatred in her eyes, and one could swear that the temperature around her seemed to be permanently several degrees colder than normal. It was like her magic was always discharging itself around her in the form of icy winds.

"Package and letter from Gringotts fer yeh, Miss Flynn," Hagrid huffed, dropping a large and blocky package in front of her. "Owl couldn'a carried this. Too heavy,"

"Huh. Wonder what it is," she mused. Curiosity taking the better of her, she put aside her breakfast and opened up the letter first.

 _To Miss Zoe Flynn,_

 _Gryffindor Tower_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN THIS PACKAGE IN PUBLIC. An enchantment has been placed upon it to self-destruct if it detects too many sapient lifeforms in its immediate area. Find a secluded area and then open it._

 _This package is keyed to your blood, and by extension, your sisters. Simply drip a few drops of blood on the seal to open it._

 _A letter from your mother is contained within. Follow every instruction that is inside. This is for your safety and the safety of everyone else in the school._

 _May your enemies fall before you, and your vault ever grow richer,_

 _Manager Snapjaw_

 _Account Manager of Black-Flynn_

"What's that, Zoe?" asked Harry from her right. Half of Gryffindor were also looking curiously at the package, which was seemingly heavier than what a post owl could carry.

"Don't know, but it's addressed to me. Gringotts things, I think?" she murmured.

Thinking that it was perhaps a good idea to find out as soon as possible, she wolfed down the rest of her breakfast and vanished to find the nearest girls' toilet. Which, considering Peeves had flooded the ground floor and first floor ones, meant the-

"Ugh. I hope Myrtle isn't throwing taps again," groaned Zoe as she pushed open the door into the out-of-order girls' bathroom. Still, it was a bathroom that no student would willingly enter if they could help it. She herself knew that, having used the room to brew some questionable potions in her quest to out-prank the Weasley twins. And that meant that it was, strangely enough, the most private location in the whole school.

Inside was the most curious set of devices. There were more than four dozen little silver discs with obsidian lenses, a tiny blue crystal embedded in the base of each one. Underneath all that, there was a tablet-like slab of clear crystal-glass, framed in brass – and a letter in her mother's sharp and neat handwriting pinned to it with a small piece of adhesive tape.

"Recording discs? Replay tablet?" she whispered to herself, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, she wants me to do WHAT?"

"Can't a ghost suffer in peace and quiet around here?!" wailed Myrtle from one of the cubicles. A small wave of water surged out from beneath the cubicle walls as the ghost slowly rose up. "Oh. It's you. Making another prank again? Another batch of Super Sticking Paste? Or maybe another Puckering Solution?"

"No, nothing like that. Just opening a package from mum where nobody can find me," Zoe replied, closing up the package.

Which was, evidently, the wrong thing to say. "A package? A PACKAGE!?" she howled, "Must be nice of you to receive a gift. A package! Stupid Myrtle. Silly Myrtle. Ugly Myrtle. That's all they ever say to me!"

With an anguished wail, Myrtle dived back down into her cubicle, releasing another torrent of water from her cubicle. Rather than risk the box getting wet and breaking down on the way back up to the Gryffindor Tower, Zoe decided to up and leave before the whole room got as flooded as the other bathrooms that Peeves visited.

Still, as she did so, she threw a recording disc at the ceiling, where it stuck to the stone and vanished from sight. If her mother sent her a gift that would help her catch whoever it was that petrified Hermione, that was the greatest late Christmas present ever. Now, if only the Professors would let her break the legs of whoever did that to one of her friends...

* * *

Unbeknownst to Zoe, the crystalline tablet was not the only device that was viewing the output of the spy mirrors. In the research laboratory, there was an entire wall that was plastered with dozens of crystalline panels. Each one of them showed an image from inside Hogwarts; one for each of the little devices. And each one had a video camera that was recording everything, relaying the output straight to a set of computers so that nothing would be lost.

A pair of sleepy scientists were monitoring the output, downing steaming mugs of coffee as they did so. It was close to midnight on that evening. The corridors appeared to be all empty at night – just as it had been for the past few weeks. Save for the few patrolling prefects and teachers, it seemed like the entire castle was deserted. Not a soul in sight.

"Come on, Ross, nothing's going to happen tonight," yawned one scientist.

"Ya kiddin'? I ain't goin' nowhere, Jack. Ya hear the chewin' out that Adams gave to our boss lady when he heard about this threat on her kids? I ain't gonna be the one to face the music if something happens and we didn't see it. I'm stayin', ya can go get some shut-eye if ya think yer so tired,"

At that moment, Ross spotted a bit of movement on one of the screens. "Hold up. Over there. Ya see it?"

"Red-haired girl. Short, so it's not one of Flynn's. Why's she sneaking around? And why's she got a book in her hand?"

"Yeah. Where's she going? A bit late to be going to the library, isn't it?"

"Library's on the first floor. This is the second. She's probably going to the toilet. But I swear that one's the one that always gets flooded, isn't it?"

They followed her movement. Up the second floor corridor, into the girls' bathroom in the second floor. And then they watched in amazement as she did something to the mass of taps and sinks in the centre of the large bathroom and caused it to shift aside, revealing a gaping hole that led down to a hole so dark that they could not see what lay within. A ramp slid out of the walls of the hole, and she walked down there without a single thought about the pitch darkness below.

And then, five minutes later, she emerged.

And she was not alone.

"Holy mother of God," Ross whispered, gawking at what he was seeing on the screen. "You seeing this, Jack?"

His night-shift partner could only nod mutely, transfixed by what he was seeing on the screen. A great snake, perhaps twenty metres long, slithered out of the gigantic hole. Its body was perhaps as thick as a car was long; its maw large enough to swallow a grown man whole. Craggy black scales the size of dinner plates covered it from tail to snout, making it seem as though it were armoured. "Call the boss," Jack hoarsely croaked out. "Code red. We're going to need some serious hardware,"

* * *

The lower levels of Gringotts were a place that nobody – neither man nor goblin – wanted to be on that Friday. The goblin king was apopleptic with rage after receiving a letter from the goblin-friend, Dr. Flynn. It spoke of the threat in Hogwarts; of how an enormous black snake wider than a man was tall emerged from a hidden chamber beneath the sinks and taps in a girls' bathroom. If the description was not enough for him to piece together the evidence as to what the culprit was, the set of photographs that had accompanied the letter certainly ensured that he knew exactly what it was.

"A _basilisk_!" snarled King Ragnok, crumpling up the letter and igniting it with some magic. His fingers still trembled with rage as he glared at the four photographs of the creature in front of him. "Of all the creatures that could possibly be preying upon students! And one so large! Bloodtooth! Is there a way we could possibly access Hogwarts to rid the world of this...blight? Assaulting it with an army of our warriors, at least?"

The wizened old goblin to the left of Ragnok's throne shook his head. "I'm afraid not, my lord. The Treaty between wizards and ourselves has made it quite clear that we are not permitted to step outside of Gringotts with a force of any more than five armed warriors at any given time, unless given written exemption by the Ministry of Magic,"

Five armed warriors. The goblin king drummed his fingers on the armrest of his throne, thinking about how on Earth he could possibly have five warriors slay an enormous basilisk of that size. Had Dr. Flynn not sent him a series of photographs depicting the dark creature wandering around the halls of Hogwarts, he would have dismissed it as simply a figment of her imagination. After all, there was no such thing as a basilisk that was large enough to devour a grown man whole. Until now, it seemed.

His honour, however, was at stake.

Killing the basilisk was one thing; he knew that it was all but impossible for a basilisk to be killed by a mere five warriors. Even one that they had discovered centuries ago in the depths of Gringotts' vaults had taken nearly two hundred warriors to kill, and that was only half the size of this one.

Making sure that his debts were properly honoured, however, was another thing. At the very least, he could ensure that Dr. Flynn's children remained safe until they returned home for the year. The Ancestors would not forgive him if he shirked on his duties to his allies in their hour of need.

"Fetch me five of my finest warriors. They will be heading to Hogwarts to escort the Flynn children, effective tomorrow!" he ordered.

* * *

A/N:

This was the other half of the chapter that I posted earlier. Just for you guys, I'll try to get at least second year done before turning my attention to other less plagiarist-infested sections of FFN.

The Prime Cronos: It's always good to hear that you're enjoying this, at least.

noman09: Yeah, part of the issue is that sometimes the plagiarist does one chapter at a time. It resembles a legit author posting a story, which makes me always cautious about whether the story posted is a legit original or a stolen fic. For example, look at DZ2 posting stories; he/she puts up loads of stories, which if you didn't realise they're originals, you could be tricked into thinking he's a story thief as well by how fast he's posting things up. Makes it very hard to decide whether to enjoy the story and hope for more, or if it was a stolen one that isn't worth reading because it would never be continued or completed.


	24. Blindsided

General Adams, hearing about the imminent threat to 'his' supersoldiers, had immediately barked out orders to extract Amanda's three children from it, by whatever means necessary. All while muttering about useless infiltrations and unnecessary risks. It had taken a great deal of negotiation skill to convince the general that it was a fruitless endeavour and cancel his previous orders. After all, how would someone do anything to a place that seemed to not exist on any map or chart? One that was, quite literally, invisible to those who were neither magical nor invited?

ot to mention that doing so would effectively remove any chance of quiet observation and information gathering for the future on a potential threat that they still knew very little about.

Amanda had to admit that she had few options when it came to dealing with the threat within the school in a permanent manner. The basilisk, as identified by the goblins, supposedly had a stare that would kill creatures just by locking eyes with it (and petrified those that saw the reflections of said eyes); with hide that was supposedly stronger than steel, capable of resisting spells up to and including a killing curse; a crushing grip enough to crush masonry; and venom capable of burning through anything organic within seconds. As absurd as it sounded to her, she reminded herself that in the magical world, anything could be possible. After all, the screaming plants that had the exact same effect on those that heard it was evidence enough of that.

If the creature was anything like the living tank that the goblins had described it as, then perhaps an anti-tank mine or two would suffice. Yet acquiring weapons from the army armouries was certainly not an option. Her daughters had not been trained in the use of anti-tank weapons or explosives; and Adams would certainly never approve of training and arming goblin warriors with them. And to make matters more difficult, she could not use the spy-disk recordings as evidence to incriminate the red-headed girl that was apparently unleashing the basilisk on the school. That would raise more questions and bring more attention to herself and her daughters than they were prepared to deal with.

If killing the creature was not possible, then she thought that perhaps it would be better to remove her daughters from the school. As callous and cruel as it sounded, the other children in the school were expendable. Her daughters, however, were not; they were, after all, the culmination of years of research and cost an almost unimaginable fortune to create. The goblins did also mention that there were other magical academies scattered throughout the world. Salem Witches' Institute and Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the United States, Beauxbatons in France, Durmstrang in Norway, and Mahoutokoro in Japan. Perhaps she could send them to one of those, taking the goblins' offer to fast-track their enrolment through foreign Gringotts branches' contacts.

She sighed heavily and massaged her forehead. All things considered, killing the basilisk seemed to be next to impossible. The goblins seemed absolutely adamant about the sheer insanity of even trying to kill it with a horde of highly-trained warriors, let alone with just the five that were now assigned to her daughters as bodyguards. Yet her daughters seemed to have grown attached to several of the students in Hogwarts, and would likely refuse to move to another school, regardless of the potential dangers lurking within. And the less said about the language and culture barriers in moving to a different school, the better.

"Life would not be the same without all the difficulties in it, would it?" Amanda chuckled wryly to herself. Yes, hard as it was for her daughters to let go of their friends, perhaps moving schools was the best option they had. Their safety took precedence over all else. Even their friendships. Their second year was more than half completed, and it would make little sense for them to move immediately. Yet if the beast was not slain, then she could not risk their safety for the rest of their school years.

Yes. That would be how Amanda could deal with this crisis. With orders from herself, Orianna could drag her sisters to fall in line whether they liked it or not. She could ask them to remain in the safety of their dormitories after dinner for the rest of the year; then if the basilisk had been killed before then, they could remain in Hogwarts. Otherwise, the only option that she could see was for them to move to another academy abroad. Perhaps to France, where travel with non-magical means was not too onerous.

* * *

Orianna fell into 'her' couch in the corner of the Slytherin common room, carrying a stack of textbooks and papers. The mottled green-and-black cloth that covered it was faded and worn, and the wool stuffing inside was poking through some frayed holes in it. Every time she shifted, the entire thing creaked and groaned as though it were about to fall apart. Compared to the silver-gilt, silk-covered couches that filled the rest of the room, it looked very much out of place. Doubly so when one considered the three-legged table that was in front of it, which was only standing thanks to a tall stack of thick and heavy books.

Yet the couch was hers, and hers alone. The other Slytherin students gave it a wide berth, refusing to step within ten paces of it. Perhaps it was due to her vicious reputation within the House of Snakes. Perhaps it was their disdain of anything that was not luxurious. Or perhaps it was the presence of the goblin warrior that always shadowed her. Whatever the case, she was happy enough to be left well enough alone.

Privacy, after all, was a rather precious resource when it came to studying. Especially when her mother had banned her and her sisters from venturing outside the dormitories and common room at night. How she missed the silence of the libraries when she needed to study.

"Tempus," the red-haired girl intoned, checking for the time. A wispy ten-o'clock floated up from the tip of her wand, and she frowned deeply.

Daphne had mentioned that she was going to join her for some private study at eight. That girl was punctual to a fault, often arriving fifteen minutes early to nearly everything. To be an hour late? That was extremely worrying. Especially with the basilisk still unaccounted for.

A loud rumbling came from the entrance of the common room as the dungeon walls shifted to make way for someone coming in. Orianna looked up from her papers, expecting a familiar blonde to come through.

Instead, the greasy-haired head of Slytherin came through. His expression was completely unreadable. "Miss Flynn," he spoke flatly. "Come with me,"

It didn't take long for Orianna to realise where she was headed. Up and out of the dungeons, and up the grand staircase and to the right. A path that she had often gone herself during her time in Hogwarts.

The hospital wing.

"There has been an attack, hasn't there, Professor," she muttered quietly. Her heart was pounding a little more quickly as she hoped that she would not see what she feared she would see.

Alas, it was all in vain.

There, on three beds side-by-side, was a sight that she had hoped she would not see. A bushy-haired brunette girl closest to the doorway, a tiny mirror clutched in her hand. A slender blonde, her face frozen in an expression of abject fear. And lastly, a face that was hers – and yet not hers. The last girl had a scarlet ribbon woven in her hair, lips frozen in a furious snarl, wand firmly clenched in her hand.

"Zoe?" whispered Orianna in disbelief. "Why? Why would you do this? Mother instructed you to stay in the dormitories!" she roared, rushing to her sister's side in a flash. "You stupid, stubborn, foolish-"

"Miss Flynn! I understand that this might be difficult for you to accept, but keep your voice down!" barked Madam Pomfrey from a side room. She held in her arms a bundle of blankets. Beside her Orianna noticed that there was a tiny brunette – Tracey – that was following her mutely. And right behind Tracey was Astoria, who was staring off blankly into the distance. On seeing Orianna, Tracey bolted over and clung to the redhead's waist with a death grip. Almost as though she feared even being separated. "They are simply petrified, like the others. Which is certainly much more than that goblin could say," the medi-witch added, tilting her head in the direction of the fourth bed along. Unlike the others, that one had its white sheets drawn all the way up, shrouding a diminutive body from view.

The goblin bodyguard following Orianna cursed loudly in his native language and scooted over to his comrade's body instantly.

Taking a deep breath, Orianna closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down. Her blood was still boiling at the sheer _incompetence_ of the school at keeping the students safe; the hospital wing was nearly full of petrified students, nearly all of them Muggleborns. Only that there seemed to be one fatality, given the body of the bodyguard goblin in the bed next to Zoe's. If her sister had glanced into the basilisk's eyes- no, she didn't even want to think about that possibility.

"What is the Headmaster doing about these attacks?" she demanded. "Two of my friends and my sister are petrified. And not to mention that one of them is the heiress of an ancient family!"

"Silence, Flynn, before you say something that would be taken...incorrectly. The headmaster is doing everything in his power to capture the culprit," Professor Snape said. "While it is true that Miss Greengrass' petrification was unfortunate, no permanent harm will come to her,"

The fact that remained unsaid was that Gringotts would certainly hear about the death of one of their own clan, and that Daphne's well-connected parents would hear of their daughter's condition. The school's reputation – and by extension, Dumbledore's – would be greatly damaged by the exposure of such a terrible event.

"The only reason why I have brought you here is that Miss Davis and the younger Miss Greengrass have stubbornly refused to return to the Slytherin dormitories without someone that they knew with them," continued the potions master. "Which, while I would be able to simply stun them and levitate them there, would be a rather unpleasant task. We will momentarily return to the Slytherin common room and dormitories, where you will all remain for the rest of the night,"

"I am not allowed to see my sister?!" hissed Orianna in outrage.

"I believed that you are not a dunderhead as many of the others are, Miss Flynn, but it appears that I may be proven wrong. It is now past curfew, and with this attacker still on the prowl, it would be best that you return to your common room. Yes, even with teachers, it does not mean that you should take such risks. A Slytherin should know better than to rush into the unknown,"

"You will have plenty of time to see your sister tomorrow, Miss Flynn. Though I would say that it is pointless, considering that those who are petrified cannot hear you," Madam Pomfrey added, much more gently than Professor Snape did. "Off you trot, now. I should not want to see another student petrified. Merlin knows that Severus has enough of a task to create enough Mandrake Restorative Draught for all of them,"

* * *

All thoughts of studying left Orianna as she returned to the common room. She scooped up her books, scrolls and parchment and marched up to her dormitories, dumping them unceremoniously into her trunk. Her mind was racing to determine what step was best to take next. Attack the beast? No, she was not foolish enough to think that there was even the slightest chance of success in that. How was one supposed to kill something that couldn't even be looked at?

Worse yet, she couldn't even report the creature to the teachers. That alone would raise too many questions; for how could she know what the creature was exactly, when all the more experienced and wiser teachers could not do so for over half a year? She was only a second year, after all, with supposedly barely any knowledge of magical creatures as a Muggleborn. And she had no illusions that the mere existence of the spy-disks alone would have been enough for herself and her sisters to be expelled. Especially if they somehow found out that the disks could transmit images across great distances if needed.

Even after a hot shower, she still could not see a solution to the problems that lay in front of her. As she returned to her dormitories, however, Orianna's heart sank when saw that her troubles had only managed to get larger through her own carelessness.

Tracey, the ever-inquisitive and mischievous girl that she was, was sitting on Orianna's bed. With a sheet of smooth and white Muggle-made paper in her trembling hands.

"What's this about, Ori? You—you're leaving? And—and there's a basilisk in the school?" whispered Tracey. Her face was ashen, and her normally bright brown eyes looked almost fearful.

"Tracey. Not another word," Orianna spoke, desperately hoping that the girl would not start screaming at the top of her lungs for all to hear. There were minor silencing wards in every Slytherin dormitory, but she would prefer to not test their integrity. Just in case someone was eavesdropping on them. Thanking all the deities that ever lived that Tracey was actually being quiet for once – and that Astoria was taking her time in the showers – Orianna gently sat down on the bed next to her, taking the letter from her hands and folding it up before shoving it into the depths of her trunk. "That wasn't for you to read. Why would you go through my things while I'm not here?"

"I can't help it. It was just on your bedside table," Tracey said. After a brief pause, she added in a near-whisper, "Is it true that you're leaving?"

"Only if the basilisk isn't captured or killed by the school year's end,"

Tracey sniffed softly and bowed her head. "There's no other way?"

"No," replied Orianna flatly, shaking her head. "I'm afraid there isn't any other way. Mother was quite clear about it. Either the basilisk dies by the end of the year, or I and my sisters will be transferring to Beauxbatons. It will be practically certain, given that Zoe was petrified and her bodyguard was killed. Wait—are you...crying?"

A flash of uncharacteristic anger came over Tracey's watery eyes.

"You know, Ori, you're smart – but you can be a dolt sometimes. And totally clueless," Tracey hissed. "How do you think I feel about all this? A goblin warrior was killed, three of my friends petrified, and then the next thing I hear is that you're moving to another school! How do you think I feel, huh?"

"You won't be alone. Daphne and Astoria would still be with you, and so will Hermione,"

"No, they won't! Well, 'Mione maybe. But Daphy and Tori? No way. When her parents hear about this, it's pretty much certain that they'll send her to another school. Beauxbatons, probably,"

Tracey huffed and rolled her eyes. "If you haven't noticed, my family's not exactly loaded. We might have a fancy house, thanks to granddad. We have enough to eat every day, and we don't have to dress in rags like the Weasleys do. But dad only works as an official in the Ministry. Not even a well-paid one, mind you; and mum works as a herbologist on the Greengrass estates. There's no way we'd be able to scrape together enough Galleons to pay for schooling in France! We have to pay for our own beds there, you know?"

Orianna then had to admit that she didn't know just how much it would cost her and her sisters to be moved to Beauxbatons. Perhaps it would be something that she needed to talk to her mother about when she had some time.

"So that means if you leave, and Tori and Daphne leave..." she muttered, trailing off. "I would...I would be all alone,"

"You would still have Hermione around, won't you?"

"It's not the same!" she wailed shrilly, throwing her arms up and flopping down onto the bed. "'Mione isn't a Slytherin. I'm not as strong as you are, my family's nowhere as powerful as Daphne's is, and I'm definitely not as magically talented as 'Mione. I'm a half-blood who hangs out with a lot of Muggleborns, Ori. In Slytherin. The only thing that stops them from just hexing me to the hospital wing every day is Daphy. Well, and you. But if both of you are gone..."

The girl let out a fresh wail and began sobbing uncontrollably. The eldest Flynn triplet was shocked by what she had heard. Tracey usually held a carefree attitude, with a relaxed approach to life in general. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine that Tracey was hiding such fears away from everyone else. But there was a certain dark truth in what she had said. Without Orianna and Daphne to stand beside, Tracey would doubtlessly be destroyed by the machinations inside the house of serpents.

"Don't think like that. I'm sure you'll find a way," Orianna muttered, in what she hoped was a soothing voice. Where was Aveline when she was needed most?

"Like what? Get hexed enough that they get bored? Hide in Myrtle's toilet so that they can't find me?"

"Sorry. I meant that _we_ will find a way," Orianna corrected herself, raising her hands in surrender. "I don't know how yet, but we'll find it,"

There was a brief moment as Tracey paused to consider what Orianna had said. There was a certain uncertainty in the brunette's eyes; and if Orianna had to tell the truth, she was uncertain herself if there was even a good solution to their predicament.

"Promise me?"

"Of course. When have I ever spoken something that I did not mean?"

And just like that, the brunette's face lit up. Hopeful brown eyes stared into Orianna's own; an impish smirk graced her face, and she was bouncing up and down in excitement. Much like her usual bubbly self.

"I'll hold you to that!"

Sometimes Orianna wondered if that sunny disposition of hers was simply a mask to her true emotions. Much like how she knew Daphne maintained a frosty exterior to all those who were not close to her. Whatever the case, it was getting rather late, and she had much to plan over the next few days. "Fine. Now, how about we get to sleep? We can start to work out what to do in the morning,"

"Sounds good. Okay, 'night, Ori!"

When Tracey had settled into her bed, and Astoria into hers, Orianna extinguished the bluebell-flame torches in the room with a wave of her wand. Within a few moments of slipping under her sheets, however, she heard the rustling of sheets – shortly followed by the creaking of her bed from her rear. A pair of warm arms wrapped themselves around her waist, followed by something nuzzling on the back of her neck.

"Tracey. You have your own bed," groused Orianna. "Go to sleep,"

"But I don't want to go back. It's more comfortable here," murmured the small brunette. Instead of leaving, she pressed herself into Orianna's back. "Warm and safe from big bad snakes. You'll do that, won't you, Ori?"

The flame-haired girl could only roll her eyes at Tracey's antics. "Yes. Now go to sleep,"

* * *

A/N

The plague of plagiarised stories continues, and it's both enraging and demoralising. There's a couple more chapters left in this one before there will be a fast-forward to GoF, since the plot of PoA is mostly Harry-centric and has no place for the Slytherins and their allies.

The-Only-Temporary-Name: Yep, that's me lol.

milpld: There is nothing in canon that suggests that they are child friendly, so I made a few assumptions. One is that if the goblins have a fondness for gold, they would likewise have a fondness for the means of creating wealth. Children, by their nature, represent a future investment (with a time to maturity of twenty years, much like a mortgage!)- and a very costly one at that. It would make sense that they would protect their investments. Even those of the wizards' represent future clients through which they could acquire more gold from.

Gremlin Jack: Glad to hear that you're enjoying the story. Yes, perhaps I could do with a better summary. Teleportation is indeed a threat to muggle forces, as is mind-affecting magic. But without further information on how large the threat is, how widespread they are, and the disposition of magic-users to muggles, it would not make sense for Adams to kick up a panic about magic just yet.


	25. Serpentine Regicide

"Miss Flynn. To what do I owe this pleasure?" King Ragnok asked, rising from his throne to greet the woman. Unlike the previous times that he had seen her, walking in with the composure of a dignified high-born lady, this time she marched in with all the fury of an enraged bear. There was an odd felt beret of forest green on her head in the place of a witches' hat, a gleaming brass badge pinned upon it. Behind her was a steel trunk, painted in some woodland camouflage that Ragnok had seen once or twice in mundane magazines.

"You know very well why I am here, King Ragnok," she spoke coldly.

"Then speak. What have you brought this time?"

"An instrument of revenge," she said, giving him a smirk that could freeze the blood of a lesser goblin. "You have lost one of your personal bodyguard. I have nearly lost a daughter. I believe that it is time that we exterminate this threat, no matter what the magical government says. Or mine, for that matter – but let us keep that off the records, shall we? By the end of this night, snakeblood will run thick in Hogwarts' halls,"

"Ha! Well put, goblin-friend. Such bloodthirst! Still, it is a basilisk that we speak of. What weapon could you possibly have to destroy such a monstrous creature?"

Without saying another word, she knelt down and unlocked her trunk. Gently, slowly, carefully, she lifted up an odd, flat, bar-shaped device. It seemed to be made entirely of metal, with one side concave much like a roadside gutter. "This," she declared, "A recent development by my team of scientists. I have reported this one used in an experiment – which, while not strictly true at present, I hope will become truth in a few hours' time,"

"And what is that exactly, that you think will cleave through the basilisk's hide?"

"A remotely-triggered anti-tank mine. It will produce a...hm...let us say, blades of molten metal that are projected forcefully by an explosion. Blades that travel close to two miles per second, capable of shredding through nearly one and a half feet of hardened steel plate,"

Murmurs of derisive disbelief echoed through the goblin king's hall. One that was immediately silenced by King Ragnok's raised fist. "Silence! Given this lady's contributions to us over the past two years, it shames me to hear your rudeness!" barked the elder goblin. Turning back to Amanda, he offered her a crooked smile and a nod. "Do continue. How does this weapon function, exactly?"

"Simply attach this mine to a surface. A powerful adhesive is ready to be activated by simply pressing it hard enough against any hard and flat surface. Then, when you are ready to detonate it, press the rune on this-" she held up a small cylinder with a glowing red rune on its end, "-and it will do so instantly. You do not need to see the basilisk directly to kill it,"

"And I assume that...oh, how cunning," Ragnok cackled, realising the woman's plan. "The spying devices that you have inside Hogwarts! My warriors could see where the basilisk travels, lay a trap where it is most likely to walk – and then destroy it with this device of yours!"

"Precisely. Now, I believe that your warriors have a task to perform. Please accept this device with my compliments...and may our common enemy bathe in their own blood after tonight,"

"I gratefully accept this device, and I shall promise to put it to good use immediately," Ragnok replied, a toothy grin mirroring that of the woman in front of him.

* * *

Tom Riddle, self-proclaimed dark lord and immortal, smirked as he thought about the task that he was going to do today. Oh, enthralling the youngest Weasley girl was a child's play; he only had to convince her that his diary-horcrux was but a cleverly enchanted artifact.

Of course, the fact that he was actually only a fragment of his real self was another matter – but that would not be a problem once he could acquire a new physical form for himself. One that the girl would grant him, once he had fully drained her soul and essence from it. If she would only write a few more times in that diary, he could finally complete that task.

But no, he had another lesson to teach. One to be given to the mudbloods that populated the school. They were unworthy to learn, yet numerous; and as weak as they were, in numbers they could prove to be a threat to him and his loyal followers. What better way to cull the threat than with one of his enemies, the Weasleys? Eliminating Dumbledore politically was simply a bonus to that. Oh, how the Wizarding folk would react to the news that it was one of his thought-to-be-Light followers was the one unleashing Slytherin's pet upon the other students! The damage would be great indeed!

So he stalked down the empty corridors, possessing the body of the Weasley girl. The halls were mostly empty, owing to the professors' strict curfews, which only ended up making his nocturnal trips that much easier. Upon reaching the bathroom on the second floor, he triumphantly sauntered over to the entrance to Slytherin's chamber.

" _Open,"_ hissed Ginny-Riddle. The Chamber of Secrets ground open once more, revealing its shadowy depths. _"Stairs,"_

There was a strange sensation that he was being watched, but could not place. A quick glance around, a brief _Hominem Revelio_ , and nothing. There was nobody around except the pathetic ghost of his first victim wallowing in one of the toilets. Attributing it to merely his imagination, he ventured down into the depths of the school and re-emerged soon after, the beast in tow.

Before Ginny-Riddle could order the Chamber of Secrets closed, however, he heard a strange beeping noise. Turning around to see what it was, he raised an eyebrow when he spotted a blinking red light high on the wall on the opposite side of the room. Nearest to the doorway.

And then with a thunderous, earth-shattering blast, everything went white. Something white-hot slashed through his diary; something that was sufficiently destructive to tear it to shreds of burning paper in an instant. With a roar of outrage, he felt his control over the girl slip away. No! He was so close! Only a few more nights, and he would have taken her essence completely, and claimed her body for his own use!

* * *

By the time Professor McGonagall arrived to the site of the terrible explosion, she found that the second floor girls' bathroom had, for a lack of better words, ceased to exist. Half of the walls of the bathroom had been blasted to pieces, their shards scattered halfway down the corridor outside. Every bathroom stall inside broken to splinters; the toilets, taps and sinks within shattered to bits of broken porcelain. What walls had not been shattered were coated thoroughly with a thick, steaming black paste that reeked of rotten fish. The very same paste oozed all over the floor, mixing with the fountains of water spurting from the broken faucets to form a putrid sludge, running in viscous veins in the deep gouges carved into the floor and draining into a seemingly bottomless hole where the wash-basins used to be.

The four goblin bodyguards that had been accompanying the Flynn children for the past few months were inside the ruined bathroom. Two of them were crouched over what looked like a small body on the ground – likely one of their own – while the other two were pacing about the mangled remains of a gigantic serpent.

The old teacher's heart skipped a beat. The petrifications; all of them were found near reflective surfaces, or near transparent objects. The goblin who died without a single mark. It all made sense now; the perpetrator was a _basilisk_! Merlin knows only how many more students could have been killed in all those months!

Though that still did not explain what the goblins were doing so far away from their supposed charges. "What is going on here?" demanded Professor McGonagall.

"Ah. It's you," he spoke, flashing her a toothy grin. "We have ended the threat to the school,"

That much, Professor McGonagall thought, was obvious. Though given that the four goblin warriors did not appear to be mages of any sort, she wondered just how exactly did they manage such levels of collateral damage. Somehow, she doubted that a hammer or sword could have demolished the entire bathroom in a single swing. Or torn into a basilisk's steel-hard hide, for that matter.

"More than that. We killed it. It was a basilisk, hiding in the girls' bathroom. And, in addition, we discovered who exactly has been helping it move about. This girl was caught assisting the basilisk move in and out of its hideout. Rotfang! Have you finished fixing her wounds?"

"Aye, mostly. But it don't look like she's walkin' anytime soon, boss. Lost use o' both 'er legs and 'er wand-arm, she did. 'Er wand also didn't make it,"

"You mean a student has been _maimed_?" Professor McGonagall gasped in horror. She rushed forward to see what exactly the goblins had been working on.

There, lying unconscious on a patch of mostly-clean water stained scarlet by blood, was the youngest Weasley child. Her stomach roiled when she saw her condition. Chunks of flesh were scattered across nearly ten feet behind where she was, evidently torn out of her already spindly limbs. Her arm and her left leg were hanging on limply by mere strips of skin and the tiniest shreds of sinew; her bones broken in more places than the aging Scottish lady could count. Her right leg looked much as though a giant serpent had chewed it up and spit it out. If the weak, ragged breathing of the girl was any indication, she did not have long to live at all.

Just what dark and terrible method did the goblins use to kill the basilisk?

"Oy, Steelclaw. You got the medicine from the boss?"

"Of course I do, Rotfang. You need it for something?"

"The girl. I don't know 'bout you, but I don't think the boss is gonna appreciate having Minister Fat come down on his head when he thinks we killed one of the witches. Deep Ones know we got 'nuff trouble without these wizards stirring up some more. Pass it 'ere,"

Though he grumbled something about wasting precious resources, the goblin named Steelclaw rummaged in his belt pockets for something. A moment later, a bottle of strange blue fluid sailed through the air, caught deftly by the goblin warrior that was tending Ginny. Without so much as asking for permission from Professor McGonagall, the goblin pressed a button on top of the bottle and a fine mist of the liquid sprayed onto the girl's shattered leg.

Right before her eyes, the horrific wounds slowed and stopped their bleeding. Fractured bones hissed and bubbled as they seemed to melt and reform, silenced only when flesh knitted together again without so much as a noise. Yet it seemed to stop short of repairing the skin, which left it looking uncannily like someone had gone and flayed her leg without somehow causing vast amounts of bleeding.

An application on Ginny's other leg and her arm, and her wounds looked much better than before, though no less unnerving. "Ha! Flynn's potion is _good_ ," crowed Rotfang, who tossed the mostly-full bottle back to Steelclaw. Very little of it had been used, which only showed just how potent that liquid was.

She had heard from Severus that the Hufflepuff Flynn had incredible insight into the art of potioncraft, but could a second-year student truly brew something so potent? A potion that did not even need to be drunk, but only needed to be sprayed in the tiniest amounts onto the affected areas? One that seemed to combine the effects of Skele-gro, blood-replenishing potion, and regrowth potion all at once? It was difficult to believe, but given the lackluster performance of the Gryffindor Flynn in all things academical (except for Charms), and the fact that the Slytherin Flynn seemed only talented in destructive magics and elemental transfiguration, it was the only possible option she could think of.

After all, if there was another magical Flynn in Hogwarts, she had certainly never heard of them. And Muggles could not possibly have brewed such a potion, thus ruling out their parents.

"Anyway, what to do now? Ain't like the boss gonna be happy to hear that we let the basilisk-handler run free. Even if she is a little 'un. Take 'er to Gringotts to be judged?"

"That will not be acceptable! She's injured, she should be taken to the hospital wing immediately!" cried out Professor McGonagall, aghast.

The four goblin guards looked at each other and shrugged. "Above my pay grade," muttered an ancient, surly-looking one that was behind the basilisk corpse moments ago. "You may take her to be treated for injuries for the moment. But be warned, witch," he added, pointing a long, bony finger at Professor McGonagall, "This girl is guilty of leading a basilisk about, causing the death of one of King Ragnok's personal guard, as well as endangering the lives of the remaining guards and at least three goblin-friends. Any effort to shield her from justice will be met with the harshest penalties, as prescribed in the previous treaty between your Ministry and the Goblin Nation of Gringotts,"

She paled at the thinly-veiled threat. This was not something that she had expected, and certainly not so late at night. She would have to inform Albus of this recent development.

* * *

Dumbledore was not happy. The Chamber of Secrets had, for a lack of better words, been blasted open. There was literally nothing covering the hole where it once was, and despite his protests, the goblins had scoured it clean of all artifacts, books and items, claiming 'right of conquest' under the ancient laws of the land. Not that he could dispute it, of course; that was exactly how he ensured that the Potter fortune grew by the Riddle fortune after Voldemort's death (and by extension, _his_ own wealth by being the legal magical guardian of Harry, which granted him legal authority to use that wealth as he saw fit). So as he watched the last of the crates of various books being carted off to a wide-area Portkey bound for the Gringotts vaults, he had to swallow his urge to try and get those items under his control. It would be far more destructive if he caused Gringotts to lock all vaults – or Merlin forbid, cause him to lose control over the Potter fortune.

What was worse, however, was the fact that he would be receiving a rather inconveniently timed visit from two Lords. Lord Malfoy had been rather pleased about receiving information that Albus had been repeatedly failing to ensure students' safety, if his smug official letter was any indication. Trust the man to feign sympathy for Muggleborn students when it suited his goals.

The other, however, came from Lord Greengrass. Though that man was firmly opposed to the Death Eaters during the previous war, he had not supported the Light either. Suffice to say that the power behind their name was such that even the Dark dared not force their hand around him. Rumour has it that the man had weallth greater than half the Houses in Britain combined, and gold in the pockets of everyone that mattered. No doubt hearing that his daughter had been petrified had brought about his ire.

Yet even more misfortune was to come. The basilisk was supposed to be a test of fortitude and wit for the Boy-Who-Lived! The tools were all there; the Hat had the Sword of Gryffindor, which would come in the time of need of _any_ Gryffindor in time of need. He had ensured that the Granger girl had acquired the hints about the basilisk in the library with a subtle Confundus charm, and gotten her to drop the book off with Harry with a nearly undetectable compulsion charm. Yet before the boy could act, the goblins had acted first and destroyed his test! How was he supposed to develop his resilience in the face of adversity now?

And the less said about the damage to the reputation of the Light, the better. The rumour mill of Hogwarts worked overtime over the past three days, aided by the fact that the blasted goblins were very much open with describing what happened in the second floor girls' bathroom. If anything, they seemed so smugly pleased whenever they regaled curious students with their tales, sneaking in menacing grins in his direction whenever he passed by them in the Great Hall.

Now everyone knew that it was Ginevra Weasley that had been responsible for unleashing the basilisk on the school. Never mind that it was likely a Dark compulsion charm that was responsible for doing so and granting her control over the basilisk (he did inspect the bathroom for traces of dark magic, and did find a _very_ strong residue on the floor). Never mind that she had suffered enough by evidently being under its influence for so long that her magical essence had nearly been depleted. As another wave of Howlers descended in front of the despairing youngest Weasley child in the Great Hall, he sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

Why could they not forgive and forget? It was not as though anyone had been permanently harmed. Instead, the Dark were using it as evidence that the Light were not as pure and good as they portrayed themselves to be, and the Neutrals were outraged that someone had _willingly_ led a basilisk around to attack their children!

Thankful that it was not the end-of-year feast yet, he excused himself and applied a silencing charm around himself just before poor Ginevra's Howlers burst out into their usual roars. He gave her a pitying nod as he passed, but unfortunately she would have to endure it for the Greater Good. For now, he needed to be in his office.

Inside the Headmaster's Office, he found Professor Snape already inside. Beside him were both Lords that he had been expecting. Lord Malfoy, as could be expected, looked ever so slightly less enthused by the news of the basilisk's destruction; yet Lord Greengrass' eyes bored into his own with all the ferocity of a Hippogriff about to tear into its prey.

"Ah. Lord Malfoy, Lord Greengrass. Please, have a seat," Albus said, putting on his most disarming smile and conjuring a couple of plush chairs. "Lemon drop?"

"No thank you," Lord Greengrass said curtly. "I assume that you have read my letter, and therefore know the reason why I am here,"

"Why, but of course. It is, after all, addressed to myself," replied Dumbledore, popping one of the lemon drops into his mouth. "Your concerns are quite valid, Lord Greengrass, and you can be sure that I have been handling them with due diligence. Your daughters are quite secure-"

" _Quite_ secure," repeated Lord Greengrass, his frown deepening. "Quite. Secure. Is that what you intended to say, _Mister_ Dumbledore? That my daughters are merely only _quite_ secure while they receive their magical education?"

"I assure you that they were never in any danger of being harmed," he offered placatingly.

"That is _NOT_ good enough!" roared Lord Greengrass. It became evident where the elder Greengrass daughter had gotten her ice-manipulation prowess from, as the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees and a metre-wide circle of black ice formed about the enraged lord's feet. "I expect that my daughters remain completely safe while in school! No danger of being harmed? My heiress had nearly looked a basilisk directly in the eye, Mister Dumbledore!"

The verbal lashing continued for nearly an entire minute. The entire time, Dumbledore swore he could see Lord Malfoy's smile grow wider and wider as time passed.

"-and lastly, I find it disgusting that my eldest daughter had been targeted for her...poor choice in association. With a group of unworthy Muggleborns and a half-blood of a far lesser family. I do not know what should concern me most; that my family name carries so little weight that your students do not know how to exercise caution – yes, that includes your son, Lord Malfoy; you can be certain that I will be burning every proposition of a betrothal from this day forthwith – or that your idea of adequate security is to let a Class XXXXX forbidden creature roam free in the halls; or that my daughters' safety and well-being was only ensured by the loyalty of those very same Muggleborns that I had considered beneath my notice! Perhaps it is time that I reconsidered my priorities,"

"Lord Greengrass, please. I am sure that my son had not meant any lasting harm," Lord Malfoy said, his smile fading slightly.

"A Severing Charm directed at neck height, Lord Malfoy. Had my daughter not been drilled in defensive casting from an early age and thrown up a shield – no matter how shoddily cast it was – you can be certain that your House and mine would be locked in a blood feud. I am well within my rights to demand reparations of you at this stage, and demand blood for blood,"

That had silenced Malfoy. As wealthy and well-connected as the Malfoys were, they were not prepared to engage another major family in what could be a lengthy battle of influence. It lifted Albus' spirits somewhat to see Lucius scowl and bow his head in grudging acquiescence. "I apologise for my son's actions,"

"Accepted. For now," growled Greengrass scathingly. "Though it will be most difficult for your son to do anything untoward with regards to either of my daughters in the following year. Your questionable choices in both matters of staffing and security have left me with great doubts about the state of Hogwarts, Mister Dumbledore. I have arranged for my daughters to be transferred to Beauxbatons. Yes, that also means that House Greengrass is rescinding its financial support for Hogwarts and for the Ministry's educational initiatives,"

Albus' face fell. The funding of House Greengrass represented nearly fifteen percent of his annual budget. "Come now, Charles. Surely that would not be necessary,"

"I did not grant you permission to address me in the familiar, Mister Dumbledore!" snapped Lord Greengrass. "Nor will your pointless bleating help to change my mind. My written orders to remove all future stipends to the Department of Magical Education have been processed by Gringotts already. Now, that concludes my courtesy visit to let you know of the change in circumstances. I shall beg my leave, Mister Dumbledore,"

At that moment, Albus could only groan and cradle his face as Lord Greengrass stormed out of the room, still fuming. The day could not possibly get any worse; the reputation of the Light had been severely damaged; the goblins of Gringotts had gotten their hands on the basilisk remains and the contents of Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets; Harry had not been put through another ordeal that would strengthen his resolve; and now, he had to deal with the loss of a major source of funding. His staff would be less than pleased when they learned that they had to make do with inferior materials and equipment in the coming years. And possibly some cuts to their pay.

A soft cough interrupted his thoughts, however. And as he looked up, he saw the smiling face of Lucius Malfoy, grinning as though Christmas had come early.

"Well, as Lord Greengrass seems to have finished delivering his message," Lucius spoke airily, "Shall we continue?"

* * *

A/N:

Well, can't have poor Lucius lose out every time, can we? Once in a while, he's got to get something good happening for him.

Never understimate the wrath of a parent whose child is threatened with mortal danger. All bets are off once that happens; Dumbledore is simply lucky that the crap he pulls on Harry is done with Sirius in Azkaban, and both Harry's parents dead. This time, however? 'I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds' seems apt to use. After all, the development of the most terrible weapons in history comes at times where moral qualms are considered secondary to all else. And what greater need is there, than to protect one's own offspring?

NecroJake: That will be the plan, as well as fast-tracking magitech development. Now that they're aware that something isn't quite right in Hogwarts (what sane headmaster would put students in harm's way every single year, without proper training?!), Amanda and Adams can no longer tiptoe around slowly just gathering information.


	26. Altered Bargains

The summer holidays had started off rather bleakly for Tracey Davis. Only a week in, and she had overheard the most distressing news from her parents. Evidently, both the Flynns and the Greengrasses would be transferring to Beauxbatons. Daphne's father had cited his displeasure about the total lack of security in Hogwarts, and Amanda Flynn (the triplets' 'mother', not 'mum', she had to remind herself) had likewise expressed disgust about the numerous failures of the school, from staff selection choices to the concerted attack on her eldest daughter by the Slytherins.

The concerted attack on Orianna. Tracey shuddered as she recalled the way that the taller girl had pushed her out of harm's way to fetch Professor Snape. If she had been in the Slytherin common room during that attack – no, she did not want to even think about that. The older Slytherins had been all too happy to throw bone-breaking curses like they were mere colour-changing charms. If she had been caught in the fighting, it would have ended _very_ badly for her. Without Orianna as her shield in Slytherin, she doubted that she could even last a week without being cursed or hexed.

Perhaps it was time to find a new option. Get re-sorted, perhaps? Did Hogwarts even offer that option?

Perhaps it was time for her to apply herself more seriously to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Yet unlike Daphne, she did not have a natural aptitude for an element; unlike Orianna, she was not possessed of a nearly supernatural strength; and unlike Hermione, she was not so quick of wit to learn a vast array of spells to use against those that would harm her. No, that simply could not work.

Tracey sighed as she fell back onto the recliner on the small private beach of her home. She wistfully thought of the other, more distant option that lay in front of her. So tantalisingly close, yet entirely unreachable. France was simply on the other side of the Channel, where Beauxbatons was. It was where her friends were going to go.

The faint sounds of rubber sandals tamping down sand came from behind her just before her mother sat down on the edge of her recliner. "Tracey, dear, what's gotten into you?" she spoke worriedly, running a hand on the back of Tracey's head. "It's not like you to be moping around all day. Or all week, really,"

"Mum, you know why. All my friends are going to Beauxbatons. And I'm going to be stuck in Hogwarts. All alone,"

Somehow, her mother didn't appear sad. Rather, if Tracey hadn't been imagining things, there was a slight quirk to her lips. "That's where you're wrong, dear. Come on, now, get dressed up properly. Your friends are coming today. Daphne and Astoria are already here,"

"Daphne's here?!" yelped Tracey, sitting bolt upright. "And you didn't tell me?"

Her mother laughed in that usual teasing manner that she normally did, smirking as she replied with, "You looked too comfortable just lying there. And you did tell me to not disturb you,"

"You're terrible!" exclaimed the short brunette as she flounced off back to the house.

"Right back at you, dear," chortled the elder Davis, following her daughter back up to the cliffside manor.

After having quickly washed up and dressing herself in a simple dress of forest green, Tracey walked down to the dining hall. She idly scratched herself behind her head, smoothing out a bit of unruly hair that still stuck upwards, all while wondering when everyone else would arrive.

Inside the hall was Daphne, wearing a flowing set of white silk robes adorned with glistening pearls and gold embroidery. Around her neck was a chain of gleaming white gold, studded with emeralds the size of quails' eggs. Her usual sheets of golden blonde were pulled back into an elegant bun, held in place by a golden pin in the shape of an eagle in flight. To top it all off, she was wearing an intricate golden tiara, encrusted in countless emeralds and pearls. Yet despite all her finery, the blonde heiress sat stiffly with her knees clamped tightly together .

Even Astoria, who sat on the other side of the long table, had been dressed up. Her raven hair was tied back into a side-ponytail, with what looked like a bouquet of roses used to tie it up. Like her sister, she was wearing robes of fine white silk, though it was adorned with blood-red rubies instead. There was no tiara on her head, however, for which she seemed grateful for.

"Daphy! I didn't think that this was a formal event!" cried out Tracey, who scooted over to Daphne's side and hugged her vigorously despite the other girl's protests. "You shouldn't have to dress up like this. And you too, Tori! What's all this about? Why are you two dressed up?"

"Mum happened. That's all," Astoria quipped, shrugging her shoulders. She pulled a face before making a rather poor imitation of her mother's deep, dignified voice. "I did not raise you to look like paupers!"

"Oooh. Okay," Tracey said, smirking slightly. "Did she drag you two to get dressed up?"

"You don't know half of it," grumbled Daphne. She ran a hand down her arm and winced as if she had been burned, "One hour being bathed by a house-elf in rose water, while another one was...well, plucking every little hair I had on my arms and legs. And then two hours being dressed up by my mother. Hair, make-up, nails and all,"

Two hours. Sitting in front of a mirror while having her hair done, her nails trimmed and polished, her dress fitted and jewelry placed on all the right places? That sounded truly, utterly, horrifyingly _boring_. Sometimes it was worth being someone of lesser status, just to avoid those silly social requirements that the snobby 'upper-class' ladies all seemed to have.

"Ouch. I feel sorry for you, Daphy. Did Tori have to get that done too?"

"Nope! I only had to get washed up, and mum just let Mipsy do my hair and my dress. It still took a while, but nowhere near as long as Daph's," giggled Astoria, who smirked playfully when Daphne shot her a withering glare.

"Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Astoria. Sooner or later, mother will insist that you be made presentable in the same way," sighed Daphne. She turned to face Tracey's father when she spotted him coming out of the main study. "Ah, Lord Davis? Would you happen to know when the Flynns will be arriving?"

"They informed me that they would be arriving by Floo on the hour. It is still two minutes to noon," William replied. He cast a glance towards the fireplace, which had been lit with a heat-free green fire. "And that they would be calling in before arriving,"

It didn't take long before something in William's pocket gave off a muffled beeping noise. He took out a round crystal orb that was inscribed all over with runes and pressed a glowing green one in the centre of it. Out popped a ghostly apparition of the Flynn triplets and their parents. The apparition was somewhat blurry, and every so often it flickered quite badly; but it definitely worked.

"Lord Davis," the scratchy, oddly-ethereal voice of Dr. Flynn spoke, seemingly coming from the apparition. "Is your...fireplace...free to use?"

"Ah, of course, Amanda! You know how it is, if you wish to come, feel free to do so any time,"

"Very good. I shall be right there,"

"Can they...? Well, I know that Ivy, Zoe and Ori can, but I thought that Muggles can't use the Floo?" asked Tracey, perplexed.

"They certainly can, Tracey. Why, how did you think that your mother and I were visited every month by Amanda and Lucille while they were in Scotland?" chuckled William.

The fireplace flared to life. Out came the Flynn triplets, tumbling over one another as they emerged from the Floo before coming to a rest in a heap. "Hi Tracey!" gasped Aveline, who was the first to clamber out of the tangle of limbs to throw her arms around the brunette and pulling her into a rib-crushing hug. "Daphne! Tori! It's so good to see you again!"

"Ivy—can't—breathe," gasped Tracey. Only when Aveline had loosened her grip did Tracey get the chance to wriggle free, coughing slightly as she caught her breath again. "Merlin. You can really squeeze when you want to. What are you wearing, anyway?"

Aveline patted down her clothes, smoothing out the creases before twirling around. Tracey had to admit, the dark navy trench coat that she was wearing looked rather attractive – in a decidedly non-wizarding manner. Smooth and crisp lines which highlighted her trim figure, covering a spotless white turtleneck shirt beneath. Her white satin skirt might have been considered scandalous by conservative Wizarding standards, only reaching up to her mid-thigh; but thankfully, she was wearing black stockings and polished black leather boots. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, kept in place by the usual green silk ribbon that she always wore. There was a strange addition to it that Tracey could not quite identify; an enamelled circular badge of crimson, emblazoned with a golden wreath surrounding a double helix of gold connected by bars and surmounted by a crown.

"Uncle Adams picked these out for us. How does it look?"

"Boyish and very much inappropriate for girls," Daphne remarked irritably, turning up her nose. The blonde's eyes roved over the triplets with barely veiled disapproval. Or was that jealousy? It certainly seemed much easier to put those on than Daphne's dress. "Your...'exercise clothes'...were scandalous enough. This? A set of mens' dress robes would have been infinitely more fitting,"

Aveline gaped at Daphne, not even a single word able to escape her lips. She likely wondered why the blonde heiress was so annoyed. Thankfully, Astoria was there to rescue her. "Sorry, Ivy, Daphy's just had a rough morning. Mum insisted on having us dress up 'properly', and it took Daphy three hours to get hers done,"

"Wow, that sounds like it would really, really, _really_ suck," said Zoe, who wrinkled her nose in disgust at the very idea of sitting down and perfectly still for that long.

Not long later, the fireplace flared to life again, this time ejecting Amanda and Lucille. Amanda staggered on stepping out, just barely avoiding crashing to the ground by grabbing on to the corner of the dining table. Lucille, who seemed much more comfortable with travelling by Floo than her partner, simply skipped out of the fireplace without missing a beat. "I will never get used to this infernal method of travel," groused Amanda, who dusted down her white coat.

"It is not so bad, ma cherie," Lucille said. "Ah, William! 'Ow are you? It 'as been too long since we 'ave spoken, non?"

"I'm quite well, thank you. Please, have a seat. Valerie's almost done with making lunch. You would simply adore her cooking!"

Lunch turned out to be quite a splendid affair. Vast bowls of pasta, heaped high with cheese and delicious meat sauce sat in front of each person. Soothing tea and refreshing orange juice – a welcome break from the persistent presence of pumpkin juice in Hogwarts – flowed freely from jugs that never seemed to be empty. After a second and third helping (fifth and sixth for the Flynn triplets, whose appetites seemed to be nearly limitless), stuffed full and comfortably nestled in plush dining chairs, Tracey felt like she was nodding off to sleep.

"Say, Amanda. You wouldn't happen to be aware of the recent news regarding Hogwarts, would you?" Valerie asked.

"After the basilisk attacks on the students? I heard that a student was behind the attacks, from King Ragnok of Gringotts,"

Lady Davis nodded slowly. "Yes, it was. Arthur and Molly Weasley's daughter, apparently. The poor girl tried to claim insanity—wait, did you just say you heard the news from _King Ragnok?_ "

"Indeed I did. Is something the matter?"

Both Davises looked at each other, at a complete loss for words. "Amanda," said William slowly, "You really met him?"

"I do. And I correspond quite regularly with him," replied the scientist with a smile. "A fine and reasonable fellow, if a little bit on the bloodthirsty side,"

"I don't think I've heard of wizards being allowed to speak directly with him for...well, forever. I mean, even the Goblin Liaison Office in the office next to mine...they've never been permitted to meet with him in person. Only through representatives. And even then, they would say that the goblins can be far from reasonable. Bloodthirsty, definitely; and greedy, too,"

"Hm. Then maybe it would be good for them to know that the goblins do not appreciate being treated as second-class citizens in your society. Doubly so when they control your economy. You would be amazed at just how reasonable they can be when you treat them just like you would another. But let's leave that for another day, shall we? I think this is too pleasant a day to spoil with doomsday theories and gloomy subjects. Let's just say that the goblin king is very pleased with the outcome of what happened in Hogwarts. So much so, that they have granted me a...personal request,"

Turning to look directly into Tracey's eyes, the scientist gave the young girl a knowing nod and a thin smile. "Aveline has been telling me plenty about how you three have been very close friends to my eldest daughter. For that, I am very thankful. Orianna appears to have great difficulty in making friends-"

"I am only being cautious about who I acquaint myself with, mother," replied the girl in question under her breath. Her vermillion cheeks, however, gave away her embarrassment.

"-and it would be hardly be beneficial for her if she were to lose one so soon. Especially one so close to her. I'm not sure if you have heard that I have signed a transfer request to Beauxbatons, for my three daughters and three of her closest friends. One that has been approved by both Professor Dumbledore, and the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime. It strikes me as rather peculiar, how quickly that old man can move when your father is involved, Miss Greengrass. Thank you for persuading him to assist us with this matter,"

Daphne's lips quirked upwards in haughty amusement. "Indeed. The Greengrass name does carry quite a bit of weight behind it. A shame that we could not convince him to let go of Hermione as well,"

"Okay, I'm totally lost," Tracey spoke up loudly. She felt more than a bit nettled with the discussion. How was this good news? They were rubbing in the fact that the rest of her friends were able to escape the Snakepit, but she was doomed to stay there on her own. And how did the goblins fit into all this? "Dad, I thought you said we don't have the Galleons to pay for me to go there?"

"Well, _we_ certainly don't," William said, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Amanda, would you care to explain...?"

"Let's just say that I've managed to convince someone to sponsor Tracey's education,"

Comprehension dawned on Tracey as she put two and two together. Her father did not have the money, and he had admitted as much. Lord Greengrass wouldn't pay for her tuition and living costs; not even for a family friend, whose mother was merely one of his lesser employees. Orianna's parents would already have enough on their plate, paying for three children with appetites that made the youngest Weasley boy's own seem temperate. That only left the goblins of Gringotts.

Her jaw dropped. She glanced at William, and then to Daphne, and then to Amanda. Words failed her as her mouth worked, but made not a single sound; until she eventually blurted out in disbelief, "You're _shitting_ me! The _goblins_ are paying for this?"

"I would not put it so crudely, but yes, King Ragnok has authorised my request," Amanda replied, chuckling after Tracey's shocked response. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a scroll of parchment with a golden wax seal on it. "A writ for a grant for two thousand Galleons a year, until the completion of your education. With no repayment requested, other than a stipulation that you will spend two weekends each month learning about goblin customs and culture. This way, my daughters will not lose a friend, and you will all be able to begin at Beauxbatons together,"

Tracey could hardly believe it. With trembling hands, she reached out for the sealed scroll and unrolled it. Her eyes roved over the parchment, wondering if there was some sort of mistake; if this was some sort of elaborate prank. But it was hard to say that it was a joke, when even the signature at the bottom of the scroll was overlaid with Gringotts' seal, stamped in gold.

Which meant this was real.

She would be going to Beauxbatons with her closest friends.

She would not be stuck in Slytherin, where everyone else saw her as less than the dirt beneath their shoes.

Standing up, she slowly made her way to Amanda and Lucille. With a cry of pure happiness, she hugged the older woman about the waist. "Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou~!" she wailed, sobbing in relief. Amanda uncertainly put her hand on the girl's back and patted her awkwardly. She was soon joined by Lucille, who put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "I—I didn't think that someone would even do this for me,"

"You should not be thanking me just yet," murmured Amanda, a wry smile on her face. "After all, the goblins do expect...returns on investments. Try not to disappoint them,"

* * *

A/N:

And that is that for second year dramas! Dumbledore is letting the girls go, likely as a means to stop their interference in moulding the Golden Trio into his vision of the perfect martyrs and symbols of the Light. However, given that Hermione has already been exposed to mind-altering potioning attempts in the past, it remains to be seen whether or not his plans will actually come to fruition.

Goodbye Hogwarts, hello Beauxbatons!


	27. The Spark of Creation

The heavy steel blast doors to the magitech laboratory in Eilean Mor slammed open with a thunderous crash, causing several younger lab assistants to jump up from their seats. A deck of cards toppled over the edge of the table nearest the doors – along with a vial of pale yellow liquid, which shattered on impact with the hard concrete floor. Sizzling and spitting and hissing as it spread, the acid burned away everything that it touched – stopping just short of a polished, black leather shoe.

A white-gloved hand reached down and picked up a tiny, blackened scrap of playing card. "Specialists Jones, O'Flaherty," Amanda spoke, the calmness in her voice not reaching her icy glare as she crushed the burned card piece between her fingers. The lab assistants in question flinched and shrunk away, cowering in their boots. "I have only been away from the laboratory for _three hours_ to have a meeting with General Adams – and you two have, in your overwhelmingly developed sense of duty, decided to _play cards_. In a laboratory. With vials of highly-concentrated acids, bases and explosive hazards close at hand, near priceless pieces of cutting-edge technology that would be ruined by so much as a tiny amount of spillage on them, and unique artifacts that we have no way of acquiring more of. Am I correct in my assessment of this situation?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," the two replied in unison, their voices barely a whisper.

"Am I correct in my assessment of this situation, specialists?" she demanded again, more loudly.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"If you are so bored that you are inclined to play cards in my absence during working hours, then perhaps you might want to consider...alternative arrangements. Do I have something to declare to the General in my next monthly meeting?"

The two of them shook their heads vehemently.

"Then see to it that this does not happen again. Clean up this mess!" she snarled. Turning to the other assistants, she angrily added, "And the rest of you should know better than to allow this! This is a place of science, not leisure! Do you wish to be remembered for idle chatter and wasteful thoughts on gambling theory? Except for O'Flaherty and Jones, you are all dismissed for the rest of the day! See to it that you are all back here by 0400 hours, mentally prepared for some actual research!"

It didn't take much more of her furious ranting for the other assistants to scramble out of the laboratory as quickly as they could. When the last of the acid had been sprayed down and wiped clean, and the two misbehaving assistants had, Amanda took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she took stock of the laboratory.

Papers were still strewn about haphazardly on the desk, with scribbled notes all over them. Yet despite all the apparent work that was being generated by her assistants, every single instrument was spotless; every vial gleaming; and every reagent jar stoppered and sealed. All the computers were turned off, their keyboards neatly covered with sheets of plain cloth.

Yes, that was correct. Everything was sealed. Unopened. Unused.

"Useless. What does it take to acquire some people who are actually competent?" grumbled Amanda loudly. "Yet another late night at work to stay on schedule,"

At the very least, her assistants had managed to remove the runic basin from its packing crate and hauled it to its intended position. Sitting in the middle of the laboratory floor, the marble basin had only just recently arrived from the workshops on the other side of the research facility. Seven large, upright pillars of silver-plated marble stood around it, equally spaced on a large circle; while five smaller ones were arranged on the points of a pentagram within the larger circle. And on the floor, an intricate network of runes and glyphs had been engraved into the concrete; a seven-pointed star encompassing a pentagram, with a triangle, circle and a line carved into the very centre.

Three months to photograph everything regarding the Stonehenge site, in the visible and invisible spectra.

Six months of work to transcribe all the runes written on the basin and the pillars surrounding them.

And another three months for the workshops to meticulously reproduce everything as closely as they could.

As the scientist ran her fingers along one of the runes carved on a pillar, she gasped in shock as every single one of them burst into life. The lights in the laboratory crackled and hissed as they flickered on and off, breaking down completely but a few seconds later. Intense bluish-white flames surged forth from where she had touched the pillar, racing along every inscription, line and carving. Around and around the blaze went, completing the seven-pointed star, the pentagram, and then the glyph in the centre of the runic circle.

When the two tendrils of flame finally met in the basin, a tremendous shockwave exploded from its depths. Computer screens, glass jars and vials all shattered; solid steel beams warped and groaned; reinforced concrete walls and floors all cracked and crumbled; liquid reagents, released from their glass prisons, splattered against everything else that was not broken, spitting and sputtering as they disintegrated everything they touched.

Yet even in all the chaos, Amanda remained still on her feet. The shockwave that had all but demolished her laboratory in an instant had somehow left her untouched. Her feet were still firmly planted, somehow anchored to a large slab of floating concrete.

Floating.

Concrete.

Just like the rest of the other bits of concrete, glass and steel floating about her.

All floating without any source of constant upwards force visible.

But she could not find it in herself to ponder this mystery any further. The light in the basin – the emerald-green flames that burned bright and strong – it reached out to her, inviting her to come closer. Its warmth, even from several feet away, drew her in. With a single jump, she leapt into the innermost ritual circle. The sight before her; it was intoxicating, entrancing, ravishing. The dancing silvery-blue flames; they called out to her. With one pale hand, Amanda reached out into the flames. Even though her mind screamed at her to stop, to not be burned, her hand continued on.

Yet the flames did not burn her. Rather, it felt almost _soothing_ , more akin to being in a warm bath or a hot spring. Higher and higher the flames climbed, consuming the weariness and exhaustion that plagued her fingers, her hands, her arms – until her entire form was engulfed in blue fire.

 _A hand touches my altar.  
A body, from near yet far.  
A mind reaches out before my sight.  
Come to my warmth. Sit by my light._

Amanda jerked back in surprise. Was she hearing things in her head? "Hello?" she called out, waiting a moment for a response.

 _The soul sings not with my Gift.  
The spirit cries out, cloven by the Rift.  
The will recoils in doubt and fear.  
Come to my warmth. Lend me thy ear._

She could swear that the voice was coming from somewhere within her mind – and yet not. If she hadn't been imagining things, there was a person striding towards her from within the flames of the basin. A woman with a blindingly beautiful figure, surrounded by a glowing halo of light and six vast wings of purest white sprouting from behind her back. Her smile was calming, and her bright blue eyes so reassuring that Amanda felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.

"Come hither, my child, and listen well," the woman commanded. Her voice was strangely melodious; a veritable choir of thousands chorusing in perfect unison. A chair – or rather, a tree stump formed into a chair, bedecked with hundreds of tiny fragrant flowers – burst out of the concrete slab between them. "Fear not my presence, for I bear thee no ill will,"

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" asked Amanda, tentatively poking at the tree stump before sitting down on it.

"True names hath more power within them than most mortals know. My own would drive thee weep in madness with the magnificence of my creations. But if thou must have a name to remember me by, then know that many have tried and failed to give me a name. Gaia, Terra, Kali, the Mother – and countless others. None have come close to the true significance of what I represent,"

Amanda's brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of what this woman was saying. The 'true significance' of what she represented? She was far from a religious person, but this woman before her did possess more than a passing resemblance to one of those images of angels. Magic, she had seen many examples of; but divinity? This was too much for her to observe.

"A demonstration would be in order, perhaps. I sense the doubt in thine mind," sighed 'Gaia'. She lifted a hand, an an amorphous blob almost akin to a floating ball of jelly sprang out from her palm. "Consider the infinite potential of creation,"

Letting the blob drop to the floor, Amanda's jaw dropped as she saw what was happening before her. Rising out of a swirling mass of darkness in the floor was an exact copy of her partner, naked as the day she was born. Every single feature of hers was replicated perfectly; the tiny mole on the middle of her slender thigh; the slight tilt of her dainty nose; the coy upturn of her lips; the brilliant shine of her sleek chestnut hair; the small patch of discoloured skin on her collarbone. Everything was there.

"The ability to create with but a thought, a will, a desire," spoke the woman. And then, without warning, she snapped her fingers; and 'Lucille' shrieked in agony as she burst into white-hot flames. It scarcely took more than two seconds before the clone of her partner crumpled stiffly forwards, charred to ashes that scattered to dust the moment that she fell to the floor. "And the ability to destroy, with much the same. Creation, and destruction. The duality of the universe, and the single truth that spans all of reality. All that exists is because I desired it to be; all that no longer exists is because I no longer wish it to. Grasp this simple truth, and thou shalt be one step closer to comprehending my existence,"

The woman took one step closer towards Amanda, forcing the scientist to squint to gaze past the blinding halo of light that surrounded Gaia's face. "In a bygone era, I had thought to myself. The burdens of creation, destruction and preservation had become quite tiresome. Creating the same blade of grass for the trillionth time does get very boring, after all. I sought to create assistants that could help myself with the maintenance of the wondrous world that I hath created. Thus, I created a people in my own image. Yet they, still beholden to my will, proved to be incapable of achieving my goals. They were puppets, little more than creatures of flesh and blood to be directed by my own will,"

"Humans evolved from the great apes over thousands of years," countered Amanda skeptically. "There are numerous pieces of evidence pointing to it,"

"Aye. Seven million years of setbacks and advances, failures and successes," Gaia replied softly, nodding in approval. "The evidence of which, it seems, has fallen into human hands. It makes me glad that _some_ have proven worthy of the divine spark that sustains thy kind,"

"Evolution is not something decided by design," retorted Amanda, frowning. After all, DNA recombination was completely random, was it not?

Well, until Amanda had a hand in it, at least.

"Decided by the roll of Fate's dice, as I have oft heard from those who have passed into my realm. But tell me, mortal child. Dost thou truly believe that Fate casts her dice fairly? That it is not weighted towards one outcome or another? Random chance doth not a very efficient system make. Why then, do you suppose, that humans have risen within the mere span of seven million years, a blink of an eye in the sight of one who has been for hundreds of millions of years, when the great reptiles had not developed so in many times the time given?"

That the geneticist could not answer. It was true that upon the grand scale of creation, humanity had existed for but a brief few moments. Compared to the dinosaurs, who had hundreds of millions of years to grow and rise, it certainly seemed odd that a similar evolution had not occurred.

"Perhaps thou canst now see that it was all by my design. I swept clean the planet once I grew tired of witnessing the wasted potential that was the great lizards of old, paving the way for something new. But enough of the past. My time to speak is short, and you shall be the one to fix the Great Mistake,"

Amanda blinked. "Excuse me?" she sputtered incredulously. "Why would _I_ be the one to fix another's mistake? And what _is_ this...'Great Mistake' that you speak of?"

The woman's wings darkened, and a slight tinge of crimson coloured the bright halo of light that surrounded her head. The serene smile that was on her face melted into a furious scowl, and the air about them whipped up into scorching winds, almost as though she were standing in front of a furnace. In fact, if Amanda had not been imagining things, the very air itself seemed to have acquired the unpleasant stench of sulphurous fumes, and the concrete walls of the laboratory seemed to morph into walls of molten lava.

"The ones that you call wizards and witches," she snarled, "I hath granted humanity a portion of my power. A tiny fragment of the divine spark, if you will, to grant them the ability to form decisions on their own, without any intervention on my part. In return, I tasked them to maintain the garden, the apple of my eye; the planet that I hath tended personally to for so, so long. Yet they betrayed my trust. In an effort to usurp my power, the wizards and witches enacted a ritual to siphon the planet's fragment of divinity for their own use, with a ritual of their own design,"

Gaia took a deep breath and closed her eyes, muttering angrily under her breath. The burning walls receded back into normal concrete, and the stench of brimstone vanished as suddenly as it had come. "They attempted to reach for a power that they did not understand, and one that they could never comprehend. The powers of creation would never obey the wills of those tainted by greed, jealousy and pride. The backlash of their failed ritual severed my control over the planet, which threw my garden into chaos. This was the Great Mistake,"

"For forty days and forty nights, my planet was thrown into turmoil. Day turned to night as the bowels of the Earth spat gouts of ash and fire into the sky, blanketing the entire world. A deluge of water unlike any that had come before drowned countless creatures in rising tides. Starvation and disease claimed most of those that survived the rising waters. By the time I hath reclaimed a semblance of control over my garden, the damage was done. Of every twenty of my children that I hath created, only one survived. And of those, perhaps only one in one thousand would be willing to come forth at my bidding. The rest were too terrified of my powers, fearing that I would only smite them down in wrath with the same. Without accessing my temples and tapping the power of the planet, they gradually lost the ability to wield the divine spark,"

"What of the wizards and witches? What happened to them?"

"The very same thing that would happen to all mortals when their time within my garden has come. They were judged most harshly for their transgressions, I assure thee; I cast them into the deepest pits of hell, where they will serve their punishments for all eternity. Their descendants, however, still roam the world to the present. All the magicals present in the world that claim ancestry from an ancient line are descended from them, one way or another. Of those, five hundred and six were borne from the seed of thy womb, to be exact," she said, though a wry grin adorned her lips. "Though I must admit, I hath not expected one to craft wombs of glass and metal to hold one's own children,"

"Five hun—wait, WHAT?!" Amanda exclaimed, narrowing her eyes. "To my knowledge, I have only instructed the creation of six children from my genetic material. Where on Earth have the five hundred more come from?!"

"Would that thy eyes and ears be more observant of what is occurring around thee, mortal child. Let us simply say for the time being that thou shouldst be aware that there are always forces lurking in the shadows. Creatures of the darker passions of the psyche, masquerading as puppeteers wearing familiar faces. But enough talk of this. Thou hast many questions for me, yet we have little time before I must rest and repair the bridge to my own garden; and I have yet to present my proposal to thee,"

"And what _is_ this proposal, may I ask?"

"It is a simple one. Thou hast heard of the reason that I hath created humanity, and the way that my control over the planet hath been severely damaged. Though I strove to repair my connection with the planet, I fear that I will not be able to restore it in time to prevent a great catastrophe from occurring,"

"What sort of catastrophe?"

"One that may well lead to the extinction of humanity. For all the wrongs that the wizards and witches past may have committed against me, the sins of the father doth not translate to the sins of the child. For all humanity's faults, they _are_ still my children in my own likeness, and I'll not sit idly by as they blunder into annihilation. In this matter, thou shalt be my herald; and I shall not take no for an answer," Gaia spoke grimly. "In the four thousand years since the Great Mistake, the number of my loyal worshippers who tend to my garden hath declined to dangerous levels, while those who hath forsaken my spark continue their destruction of the planet. Without the forests, lakes and seas to act as energy vents, the veins of energy that run beneath the planet's surface run full to bursting. In time, they will discharge that energy in a most hostile manner. One that shall make the largest volcano upon the planet seem like a firecracker scarcely large enough to scare a child,"

A vision assaulted Amanda's mind. Or to be more precise, it was as though Amanda were there, at the moment of its happening. On the edge of a geyser-studded forest of snowy pines she stood; one moment, a great spout of steaming water sprayed forth from its burrow in the ground – and then the next, there was a terrifying spray of sulphurous fumes and ash, mixed with the telltale bluish-white liquid mana that she had seen before.

If she had thought liquid mana was volatile before, based on the small explosions she had in the laboratories, then nothing could have prepared her for this. The mana, mixed with superheated sulphur and lava, detonated with the fury of a blazing sun. She could feel the scorching gale that poured forth from the miles-wide fireball that hung in the air, threatening to flay the skin from her flesh. She could see the towering mushroom cloud that rose rapidly into the sky. The pine forest, once snow-covered and green, had been set ablaze in an inferno that torched all that it touched.

The vision faded, replaced by an all-too-familiar green and blue marble, floating in the darkness of space. The miniature sun that she had witnessed before was but a bright spot in the middle of North America, with a rapidly-expanding shockwave that was racing through the continent. Numerous other bright spots began to emerge all over the world; one over Wiltshire, where she supposed Stonehenge was; one over Scotland, and another over Ireland; a particularly large one somewhere in Greece, and one nearly as large over Paris; dozens of little ones popping up over Asia and India. To her horror, South America seemed to catch entirely ablaze, with the entirety of the Amazon turning into a red-and-grey haze of smoke and flame. Within moments, the entire world had been covered with scorched wastelands and burning cities, with almost all major population centres she could see set afire.

"I've seen enough. Please, stop this," Amanda whispered, closing her eyes tightly and trying to forget the horrible visions that she had seen.

"Then you know what is at risk, child,"

"I do. But...why me? Why not find another?"

"My reasons are my own, though perhaps I shall enlighten thee in the future when we have more time. Farewell for now, and be mindful of what we have discussed. For I do think that we will be seeing each other many times in the years to come,"

* * *

A/N:

Wow, it's been a while since I last updated this story. It's going to take a different tack in the coming chapters as things heat up between the factions in fourth year and onwards.

Hopefully the origins of magic would be clearer after this chapter, as well as how muggles came to be. Let's see how this will progress in the coming years, shall we? Especially with a ticking time bomb that is the planet's ley lines hanging over their heads.

/begin rant

A note on reviews; particularly with regards to my other story, Exodus. I greatly appreciate constructive criticism. What I do mind, however, is people telling me what I should and should not do in terms of overall plot. If I have been nice enough to make a note at the very start of the story about what is and what is not being included from the source textual material, and you disagree with my choices, ** _ tough luck_**. Period. It is my vision as to how to guide the story, for better or for worse. It is written mainly for my own entertainment, to let my imagination run wild, and I am sharing it with you all as a point of 'because I can'.

If you enjoy it, great. If you're going to point out problems with spelling, grammar, plotholes, even better. If you're going to complain about the plot before I'd even written anything significant, you can see yourself out the door. Don't like it? Don't read it. Simple. I thought I was being nice by explaining which elements of a base material to shape the story, but apparently that was a big mistake.

/endrant

Okay. That aside, I do hope that you guys actually enjoy reading this.

-ArcturusWolf


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